Thorn and Misery
by daymarket
Summary: Murtagh's story. What happened to him after his capture at the Varden, up to the point where he meets Eragon and maybe a bit after. Yeah, it's long, but please read and review! FULLY COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome to Thorn and Misery!**

**If you're somebody who's already been through all this stuff and is on chapter number x, go ahead and click the little clicky button (yes, don't you know exactly what I'm talking about…). Adios. Good reading. And review, or I shall have your skin for a fur coat. Hmm. A human skin coat…not too much fur, is there? goes off into thought**

**BUT ANYWAY!**

**Before your eyes start glazing over, let me tell newtime readers a little about this VERY VERY LONG story. This is Murtagh's (who is way hotter than Eragon) story, about what he did for the length of _Eldest_. Yes, it is long, but I'd like to think it's an interesting read.**

**So. Three points.**

**Please review! Some reviewers have said that 'oh, you're on twenty four chapters, so what I say on chapter one doesn't make a difference'—OH YES IT DOES! I do go back and edit chapters, e.g. chapter two. So review. I DO look at your comments seriously, and unless you are extremely rude (OMG UR STORY SUXXX I H8 UR GUTS type rude) I will always give your reviews fair due.**

**I respond to reviews. I respond to every single review I get on the next updated chapter. So if I'm on chapter 30 now and you reviewed, then I will post a response on chapter 31.**

**Point three…actually, I lied. I don't have a point 3. O.o**

**Now all that's done with…**

**REAAAD! **

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_12/11/101_

Murtagh collapsed limply in a heap, the ringing laughter of the Twins in his ears, his body aching. "Traitors," he gasped.

"No," one of them said with a sinister grin. "It is the Varden who are traitors—puny ones, too. That and your little friend Eragon. Interesting, is he not? Galbatorix will be pleased to see you again, the son of his most loyal servant." He leaned over, laughing. "And are you so brave now? Thrysta!"

Murtagh coiled tightly, crying out with pain as what felt like a red-hot poker drilled through his stomach. The pain subsided after a minute, and he lay there, gasping for air. "Arya," he whispered softly. "Eragon…Saphira…"

"Your little friends cannot help you here," the other Twin said. "Skolir fra draumr kópa!"

The ancient words rang in his ears as they laughed unpleasantly. "They may scry all they like, Murtagh—there's naught for it."

Murtagh raised his head, jaw set. He had to escape, to warn Ajihad of the Twins' treachery…if Ajihad was even alive. He sat up unsteadily, calculating the odds. Twelve-odd Urgals, more probably skulking in the shadows of the tunnel. He had lost his sword somewhere, and plus there were the Twins to contend with. He bit his lip. He himself could not wield magic, and without weapons, he was helpless. One of the Twins noticed his mutinous look. "Do not try it," he said coldly. "The ancient words will stop you quickly."

_Curse you!_ Murtagh leapt to his feet, ready to go at it with fists if he had to. The Urgals lunged forth menacingly as Murtagh pulled his arm back for a good sock on the nose. The other Twin held up a hand, ordering the Urgals back.

The punch landed with a satisfying crack. Both Twins fell back, yelling—one, swear words, and the other, "Malthinae! Brisingr!"

Murtagh froze midleap, screaming as blue fire that did not burn streaked over his body. The Twins clambered to their feet, watching him with glittering eyes. "All the same, you Varden," one whispered.

"Cowards when it comes to truly fighting," the other hissed, goading him on.

Murtagh closed his eyes, biting in the screams. "It is _you_ who are the cowards," he spat through gritted teeth. "Fight me with swords, and we'll see then!"

The Twin with the broken nose touched it lightly, saying, "Waíse heill." Both of them looked at Murtagh intently. One seemed about to speak, but the other held up a hand, turning away, muttering darkly to the Urgals.

They huffed and nodded. The remaining Twin turned back to Murtagh. "I suggest you stop struggling," he said icily. "It will be a more peaceful trip to Uru'Baen." His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. "You'll need it. Repeat after me, Murtagh—eka mir neda hlaupa aairí." He laughed. "Repeat it, Murtagh! Brisingr!"

Murtagh screamed again as the fire blazed with renewed fury. Those words were undoubtedly binding, chaining him to them, but anything—anything to stop the pain—gasping, struggling for breath, he panted, "eka—mir—neda—hlaupa—aairí!"

The tunnel echoed with the Twins' laughter. "Good," one of them purred. "Very good, Murtagh. Wise of you."

_Just stop it!_ he cried helplessly. _Stop the fire!_

The Twins' mouths widened into grins, as if they had heard his thoughts. Drawing each word out slowly, one said, "I…don't…think…so."

He snapped his fingers. One of the Urgals prodded Murtagh's back with a spearbutt. The fire snapped at it, but spread no farther. "See what control we have?" one of them whispered. "It will only burn you, Murtagh...do you like the fire? Do you?"

Murtagh was in no state to respond. One Urgal hefted his frozen body onto its back, grunting with the effort. One of the Twins barked something at them, and off they went.

They exited Farthen Dur through a series of long, winding tunnels. Murtagh spent the entire time in blind agony, feeling the flames lick over his body again and again yet not burning him. It was only until they were outside that they finally commanded, "Letta du brisingr un losna."

The fire vanished, and Murtagh fell, no longer frozen, almost crying with the release of the pain. "Now, my friend," one of the Twins laughed, "we shall journey on to Uru'baen…our king was very excited when he heard you were coming, you know?"

Murtagh mumbled a few weak words. The Twins laughed and said, "You cannot escape, Murtagh. You have sworn in the ancient language, and that can never be broken." One of them gazed off into the horizon. "Why look—our escort approaches!"

Five horses appeared in the mist, two of them with riders. "Twins," the leader said harshly.

They bowed respectfully. "We have brought Murtagh, Morzan's son."

His lips quirked into a humorless smile. "The king will be pleased." He glanced at the Urgals sharply and said, "We have no need of them. Dispose of them."

The Urgals muttered among themselves, hearing this announcement, and some of them actually managed to bring an axe up before the Twins said in unison, "Fetra!"

Veins snapped open in their necks, sending them to a death by bleeding. With cruel smiles, they moved over to Murtagh. "We are powerful, yes," they hissed into his ear before dumping him onto a horse. "Malthinae," one of them said before clambering onto his own horse.

"Go!" the leader ordered sharply to his stallion. With a fierce neigh, it set off, bringing Murtagh closer to Uru'Baen with every step.

I tried my best to keep torture out of it, but I had to add a little to account for Murtagh's hatred of them. And I know eka mir neda hlaupa aairí isn't in the glossary of _Eldest_—I mean, 'eka' means 'I', and 'hlaupa' is 'run'. Basically, the whole phrase is, "I will not run away." Hey, I tried! First fic! Please R and R, and here's the disclaimer:

I don't own anything or anybody in this fanfic, so don't sue. It will get better if you don't like it, but PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!


	2. Chapter 2

_12/11/101-?_

The rest of the journey was spent in a restless, magical doze and constant bouts of agonizing, ceaseless pain as the Twins alternated between keeping him asleep and torturing him. Murtagh was helpless to do anything about it, as he had no magic with which to counter with and his hands and feet were always tightly bound.

He shifted, locked into agitated rest. His dreams during his forced sleeps showed him his memories in a blurry cycle, changing constantly from subject to subject. Sometimes, he saw Selena, what he remembered of her—a beautiful, worn face who eyes always seemed to contain some indescribable sorrow. Sometimes, it was Morzan, and the blade of Zar'roc flashing as the Forsworn threw it in a drunken rage. More often, though, it was Eragon and Saphira—the day they met, the day Saphira threatened to bash sense into both of them, the day he entered the Varden. The day of the battle.

_What happened to Ajihad?_ he thought muzzily. _And what of the Varden now?_

A burning hand reached into his mind, tearing his dreams away. Murtagh jerked awake with a gasp, the veil of sleep firmly removed. This wasn't Twin work; they liked to keep him partially asleep even in torture. No, this was much clearer—he felt more alert than he had in a long, long time.

He sat up awkwardly—his hands were still bound behind him. It was dark where he was and smelled faintly of mold. Bracing his hands against a wall behind him, he stumbled to his feet, eyes adjusting slowly to the darkness.

"You needn't bother," a voice said. "You won't need much for light anyway."

Murtagh froze. He knew that voice. There was the light pad of footsteps, then it purred, very close to his ear, "Welcome back, Murtagh."

In the gloom Murtagh could just very barely make out Galbatorix's face, cold and handsome in its elven-like glory. "You," he said in reply, forcing himself to keep his voice even.

Galbatorix punched him in the darkness, sending him sprawling across the floor. "Murtagh," the emperor said tightly, any attempt at cordiality lost. "You really didn't think you could hide forever, did you? Skulking around, trying to sneak out of my city…well, you may have succeeded once, but you will never do it again." A boot lashed out, striking Murtagh in the ribs. "And I'll make sure you regret the time you did."

He raised his hands. Murtagh drew a quick breath, feeling a horrible anticipation run down his spine. Galbatorix grinned at him, teeth flashing in the gloom. "Not so brave now? Maybe if you're very good after this, I will never do it again."

Bright, grotesquely colorful magic flashed from Galbatorix's hands, enveloping Murtagh in a blanket of rippling, destroying pain. Murtagh was lost in it, drowning within it, forgetting that anything existed outside of it. He might have been screaming, he wasn't sure—all his senses were lost to him, lost in that terrible burning power.

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_He couldn't remember. Couldn't think, couldn't gather his thoughts long enough together. The pain was inside him in a thousand forms—eating, burning at him as an acid, crushing him, cutting him—he was begging, crying, with all the dignity of a beggar on the streets, helpless and hopeless and willing to do anything to end it. _

_It seemed to be an eternity, stretching on forever without a visible end. But it did end, eventually, fading away to leave him weak and ruined on a filthy cell floor. Galbatorix was gone, but the pain remained. _

_It came in other forms then, inflicted not by magic, but by fire and whip and the beatings of men. They came irregularly, sometimes two of them in a single day, while the time between others would stretch for many days, leaving him wracked with fear as to when they would begin next._

_Dignity was gone, as was his years of discipline in the school of control and restraint. He fought when he could, straining against his chains, but those moments were few and far in between as the torture continued, breaking him._

_He cried sometimes, when he had the tears to spare. Nobody was around to hear, and he didn't have the willpower to fight anymore. It was replaced with a flood of sick, tired despair and overwhelming fear._

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_1/20/101_

"Murtagh," Galbatorix greeted coolly. "How has our hospitality been?"

Murtagh didn't answer, unable to gather up the courage to do so. Pain blazed from every inch of his body, distracting him, making it hard to think.

He flinched in fear as Galbatorix laid an icy hand on his cheek gently, mockingly. "Are you willing to serve me now, Murtagh? Have I taught you correctly?" He leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "Your father, Morzan, was the most faithful of my men. I trust you shall be the same?"

Galbatorix's fingers reached down, tracing the pattern of bruises and blood on Murtagh's chest. "You won't forget this lesson, will you, Murtagh?" His voice was mild, amused. "Running away from me wasn't a very good idea." His fingers tightened in the skin, fingering an edge of a half-healed wound.

The prisoner gasped as the movement caused broken bones to grate upon themselves, his breath catching in his throat. Galbatorix laughed, the sound cold and vicious. "I thought as much." He let go of the wound, laying a fatherly hand on Murtagh's shoulder. "It hurts, doesn't it?" he said, his voice low and melodic. "My gift to you, Murtagh, if you should serve me willingly."

Without any sort of audible prompting, gray fire began to flow from Galbatorix's hands, sliding greasily down Murtagh's skin. It sank into his body, stitching the whip marks closed, healing the brands and burns, melding the bones back together. The whole process took barely a minute, and Galbatorix was serenely calm at the end of it. "How is that?" he whispered, brushing Murtagh's filthy, blood-caked hair from his forehead. "Much better?"

Murtagh's breath caught in his throat. Yes, the pain was gone, only to be replaced by a sick, violent fear, so much as to be nausea. Cool fingers touched his throat, and the urge to puke faded. The fear, however, did not. "I—"

He stopped, not daring to meet Galbatorix's eyes. The emperor laughed, and it was not a pleasant sound to hear. "Go on," he said quietly. "I like to hear the opinions of my servants."

Murtagh closed his eyes, keeping his head lowered, healed fingers clenched tightly. Finally, in a ragged whisper, he said, "What use am I to you? I'm a fair swordsman, but—there must be others like me. I have no magic—what do you want me for, besides revenge?"

"That is where you are mistaken, son of my friend," he said softly. "I'll tell you, shall I? First, I do not like loose ends. I do not like rebels, either, and you, my dear, are the perfect example of both. I lost you once, and I intended to get you back. Second—" he crouched, meeting Murtagh's eyes levelly. "You can tell me about the Varden, and your little friend Eragon. He's also a very nice example of a loose end and a rebel, and I can clean him up soon enough. Third—" he laughed. "I'll tell you later, I think. I'll enjoy it. But first—as is the rule, if I tell you something, you must tell me something too. Information exchange; it's only fair."

Without warning—

Galbatorix's mind slammed into Murtagh's violently. Frantically, instinctively, Murtagh threw up barriers, trying to defend himself from the vicious, unrelenting assault. Galbatorix's laugh echoed in his mind—the emperor was _amused_, laughing as he flicked the barriers away—

_I do love a challenge, you know,_ his voice said calmly. _I haven't had such fun in months!_

Bit by bit, inch by inch, Galbatorix forced his way in. Things were pried out—Eragon, Arya, Brom, their time in Gil'ead, the Varden, his childhood, anything, everything, pulled out against his will. Murtagh's life was laid bare under Galbatorix's scrutiny; not a single inch went unexamined. Tears ran down his face as he remembered bitter memories he had struggled to bury, painful things that were meant to be private—_NO!_

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He must've fainted, for the next thing he was aware of was that he was lying on a bed, the first bed he had been in for what seemed like eternity. Sitting up slowly, he saw Galbatorix standing over him. "Eragon is protected," the king said lightly. "It seems that the images you have provided me with aren't enough to scry him."

Murtagh couldn't find anything to say. Finally, he managed softly, "Oh."

"Fortunately," the king said, pacing around him, "I have you." He turned around, eyes gleaming. Within his arms, he held a chest. Murmuring a word, he clicked the chest open.

Within lay two gleaming eggs—one emerald, and the other ruby. Murtagh stared at them, momentarily stunned. "The last two dragon eggs," he said finally.

"There would be three, but Brom and his little friend happened to steal the other," Galbatorix said conversationally. "It made me most vexed, and so I'm glad Brom's dead. Jeod…well, I don't know exactly where he is, but I'll find him soon." He glanced at Murtagh, a half-smile on his face. "Now's a good time to tell you reason number three."

"You don't know that," Murtagh whispered in horror, guessing what it was by the smug expression on Galbatorix's face. "My mother wasn't a Rider."

"She could've been," Galbotorix shrugged. "Pity she wasn't, but it doesn't matter. Your brother's blood cancels it all out, Murtagh."

"My brother?" Murtagh said, frowning slightly. "I don't have a—"

"Eragon."

Shock filled Murtagh's face, and his mind flashed back to the memories of what seemed so long ago. _Eragon_…his brother. Gods, how? _How?_

They hadn't spoken about their pasts…and Selena _had_ vanished, making it perfectly plausible that Eragon be his brother. Murtagh reeled, lurching against the wall. "No!" he cried, a wild animal sound.

"No?" Galbatorix inquired.

"That can't be true, and you know it! You're lying—I—I—" Murtagh looked down at his hands, thoughts dancing madly through his head. Finally, he said, "I'll never work for you. I'll run away to the Varden—I can't, it can't be—"

"The Varden? My first horde of Urgals didn't work it, which is rather disappointing, especially after my Shade got killed. It rather annoyed me, you know. Still, if at first you don't succeed, try, try, again, right? So really, you haven't got much to run away to. If you can find your brother, he'll either be dead or else converted. Not much choice there, either. And Murtagh, it's perfectly possible. Eragon's mother is Selena, as is yours. You are a Rider, or will be…and of course, you will be loyal to me." He smiled, his hands deftly handling the eggs, watching Murtagh's expression with a widening smile. "Won't you?"

Galbatorix closed the chest carefully and set it down on a table. Raising his hands once more, he barked, "Malthinae!"

Murtagh fell back onto the bed, held in place by invisible chains. Galbatorix eyed the prone man, frozen into stillness. He resumed pacing, talking lazily. "The ancient language is vastly powerful, if you hadn't gathered that already, my dear. Everything can be named in it, including people…and there are ways to find out those names." He laughed. "Let's see, shall we? Eyddr eyreya myder!"

Murtagh fell into a semi-conscious haze, a blank arena in which nothing existed. It was darker than night, and his thoughts ceased to move…it was as if he were dead himself.

Sound seeped through slowly, echoing around the vast emptiness until they became a compelling order in which he had to obey. A set of words emerged slowly from the darkness, words of power. Murtagh struggled to hold them back, but the net of sound that was Galbatorix reached down effortlessly and plucked them from his grasp.

The darkness released him. Murtagh was thrown violently back into the harsh light of the dungeon, shivering and feeling as if he had just risen from death itself. Galbatorix's smug face filled his vision as the king threw a blanket at him. "Oh, cover yourself, you idiot," he said with a mirthless smile. "Or, should I say, _Brikijae Knívarya?_"

Though he had never heard those words in his life before, Murtagh recognized them instantly. The words hit him like a blow, a terrible flash of insight, laying bare his life. He screamed, fighting to hide from them, but they dug into his mind, steadily, relentlessly, forcing him into a part of mental torture that he didn't even know existed, because he was inflicting it upon himself. And he didn't know how to stop it, only by dying or insanity or—

And then it was over.

Murtagh staggered to the edge of the bed, retching again and again until he could bring up no more. He leaned against the bedpost, eyes closed, his face pale.

"Brikijae Knívarya?"

"Yes," Murtagh whispered. He knew those words, knew them from the very bottom of his soul. After all, it was his true name.

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_End of Chapter Two_

This is a revised version of the original chapter two, I added a torture scene and also changed…well, everything. Tell me how you think!

I'd reread the books, and I found somewhere that Brom said something about how knowing your true name is a scathing experience, but if you survive it, you're stronger. Or something like that. Anyway, I changed this chapter to reflect that experience, and hopefully got the feeling down.

I also felt that I didn't express the reasons for Murtagh's hatred and fear enough, and so that's why I added the torture scenes.

'Eyddr eyreya myder' means 'empty your mind'.

R&R! **CLICK THE PURPLE BUTTON! NOWWWW!**


	3. Chapter 3

Yay! Reviews!

Reviewer Reponses:

**ChaosOfTheUniverse**: Thanks! I did try, and it was made easier by the fact that Galbatorix is a complete blank slate for me to scribble on.

**someoneuprobablydontknow**: I know! Murtagh is my favorite character; I actually cried at the end of Eldest when we found out the big secret and everything, and how Galbatorix was so mean to him. What a loser.

**Trinity Anya**: Thank you. I haven't read much anything where Eragon and Murtagh are depicted as gay, but thanks for the compliment :)

Anyway, I'll stop now. I'm trying the x's as barriers…

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_1/30/101_

Murtagh stared at the eggs, then raised his glance to meet Galbatorix's. "It's been seven days," he said wearily. "There, now, are you satisfied?" He smiled joylessly, his face cold. "You've found my true name, for all the good it'll do you. I'm not a Rider."

Galbatorix's face was as near rage as Murtagh had ever seen him. "You will," he snarled. "If you aren't, Murtagh, you will suffer, do you understand?" He stood, hurling the chest violently onto the floor. The eggs bounced, then rolled to a halt on the richly carpeted floor. "Hatch, damn you!" he shouted. "Hatch!"

Murtagh watched impassively, feeling a strange sense of triumph. He had no doubt Galbatorix would hold to his promise, but at least the Varden would be safe from a second Rider. _And so would Eragon_, he thought, his stomach clenching. _My brother_.

Leaning down, he scooped one of the eggs from the floor and regarded it dully, turning it over and over in his hands as Galbatorix raged, screaming and throwing things in his fury. The egg felt slippery in his palms, a perfectly smooth oval. Murtagh sighed, then—

The tiniest of cracks appeared in the surface of the egg. Murtagh jumped, staring at the tiny crack, wide-eyed. "Oh, no, no, no," he gasped, dropping the egg. "No! Don't you dare hatch, no, no—"

"What is it, Murtagh?" Galbatorix's voice cut into his. "Tell me!"

Murtagh picked up the egg and handed it wordlessly to him. Galbatorix took it and peered at the surface, his eyes widening with greedy delight. "It's hatching!" he shouted. "What did I tell you, Murtagh? It's hatching!"

"I wish it weren't," Murtagh snapped angrily. "Damn you, stop it!" he shouted at the egg. "No—"

"Oh, shut up, Murtagh. Imagine! All of Alagaesia shall unite…, no more wars, no more fighting! No more shall the people have to fear…I have only the best interests of people at heart, do you understand? The people need a strong ruler…and I will be that ruler, with you by my side." He turned, offering a hand to Murtagh. "Will you join me?"

Murtagh swallowed heavily. "You're insane," he growled, hitting it away. "You were the one who destroyed the Riders in the first place. You've stayed in your palace, terrorizing the people, and you've never bothered to go inside the villages! The people suffer, they starve—"

Galbatorix backhanded him viciously, a feral snarl on his face. "Watch your tongue, Brikijae Knívarya!" Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the madness vanished. "The Riders were useless," he said persuasively. "They were weakened, unable to do their job properly. To see them reborn, Murtagh, that is my wish. Not to destroy them. Never to destroy them—to eradicate the weaknesses, yes, and to rebuild the strong. That is my wish. The Empire must survive, and Riders reborn."

"The Empire can survive, just not with you on top," Murtagh snapped, fury making him reckless. He had nothing to lose, after all. "You're insane, mad, power-hungry—all you care about is yourself, you fool." He stepped back, breathing heavily, eyes filled with loathing. "The people despise you, as do I."

Galbatorix laughed. He _laughed_, the bastard, a deep hearty belly laugh, throwing his head back in amusement. "I do not need their love," he said when he had gained control of himself. "Nor do I need yours. I have your true name, and soon I will have your allegiance." He smiled. "Will I have your love? No, but do I want it?" He whirled back to face the room. "A new Rider! Come, my protégé—there is something you must see."

Murtagh rose, cradling the egg, his face expressionless as he exited the room that had been his prison for the past week. The guards in front of the door avoided his eyes, as did the many servants they encountered. Galbatorix strode confidently ahead, down winding passages, past heavy doors, into a deep, smelly cavern.

He heard the occupant before he saw it. A huge roar bellowed through the cave, threatening to knock him to his knees. A jet of blue flame slammed violently into the wall; even twenty feet away he could still feel its heat. Galbatorix flung up a hand, shrieking words that Murtagh vaguely recognized.

Instantly, the sound stopped. Galbatorix hesitated for the tiniest of fractions, then stepped forward, beckoning Murtagh. There, chained to the wall by thick irons around all four of its legs, was a gigantic black dragon.

_Shruikan_.

It was huge—no, huger than huge. Fifty men could've stood head to toe on top of each other and only reached the thing's nose. Murtagh gasped, slightly taken aback. "Oh—oh!"

"Yes," Galbatorix said, his eyes fierce. "This is my dragon, Shruikan. His former Rider was too weak to deserve him, too weak to be worthy of a dragon—so I took him. He's mine, I tell you, mine! We share a bond—" He grunted, deep and low, then said, "This is what yours will become, Murtagh, do you understand? A fierce fighter upon your beast…"

The dragon gave a mournful sigh, deep and low, craning its head to peer down at them. Galbatorix looked up at it with a strange expression. _That's not how Eragon looks at Saphira,_ Murtagh mused. _Their bond—it's perverted, isn't it?_

As if Galbatorix had heard Murtagh's thoughts, he turned around. "It's a real bond," Galbatorix snarled. "It's real, it'll always be real. If you say otherwise, I will kill you—you little mongrel. Come!" With that, he stalked out of the room. Murtagh followed wordlessly, his fingers feeling the vibrations as the occupant of the egg struggled to escape.

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How is it? Personally, I think it's moving a bit too slowly…should I make it go faster? Or is it just fine? Please tell me; I need constructive criticism or else I'll bore the crap out of everybody. Next time it should pick up, and maybe I'll actually find out why I picked 'romance' as a category. Please review even if it is too slow…I love reviews!

Disclaimer: Don't own anything…blah, blah, blah, you know the drill.


	4. Chapter 4

Reviews!

Moonbeamfilly: Thanks! Please keep on reading this chapter…it's really different from the others. I update about once or twice a week, mostly on weekends.

Granuaille: Thanks! Murtagh is not in this chapter (at least by name), but he will be in the next one. I promise.

angel-flame: Yes, I'm trying. I took your advice and plotted out…something similar to a plot. This chapter as a result is very much different from the others. But it'll all clean itself up in time. Any help would be much appreciated.

Okay, shutting up. Here's the chapter.

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_2/13/101_

The famous elfin philosopher Deóne Shinaria had once said, "Gossip is a ravenous monster, mindless of what it destroys. Castles and towns are its cage, but it only takes one bent tongue for it to escape."

Urú'baen was no exception. It was whispered all throughout the town and castle that there was a new Rider, started by a wagging tongue belonging to the friend of a friend. Some people said it was a tall man, with eyes of blazing fire and a golden bow. Another story involved a hunchbacked trickster and tales of beautiful enchantresses. Still others cried out that there wasn't a human Rider at all; instead, it was a wild dragon that Galbatorix only managed to keep in check by hidden powers.

Salem Blackfire shook her head as she listened to the latest rumors circulating among her friends. "And I heard that the new Rider has a secret cache of jewels stolen from his Majesty," one woman, Riane, said. "He's actually a spy from the Varden, trying to gain wealth for the rebels!"

"That's not what I heard," a man, Alexandros, said impatiently. "I'm telling you, it's a woman! A woman with long, silver hair. She goes to Galbatorix's bed every night in exchange for the dragon, and there was this one night when she didn't, and he whipped her until she bled, and there was blood all over the chambers of the royal bedroom!"

The group burst into argument as they debated the points of Alexandros's story. Salem listened, shaking her head. "That's ridiculous," she stated firmly. Heads turned to look at her quizzically. "Look, nobody actually knows anything. Riane said something, and Alexandros said another. It's so stupid."

"Well, aren't you curious?" someone called. Her best friend, Charis, moved closer, eyes sparkling. "Come on, Salem," she coaxed. "We dumb townspeople gossip because we've got nothing better to do." She leaned forward. "You have a sister, don't you? Beltane? Isn't she a maid in the royal palace?"

Cries of "yes, tell us!" and "you have a sister?" came from her friends. Salem mock-glared at Charis, then turned back to the others. "Yes, I have a sister," she sighed. "And no, I'm not going to tell you what she said!"

"Oh, so she did tell you," Charis said, grinning. "Really? What?"

The other joined in. Salem withstood the considerable pressure for the better part of an hour before she finally gave up. "Fine, fine, fine!" she said. "But you have to promise not to tell."

They agreed readily. Salem rolled her eyes, knowing that by that night tongues would already be wagging. "Right," she said dryly. "All right, listen up. Beltane works in the lower rooms with a view of the courtyard, and she's actually seen this Rider. He's a man, about a head taller than Damian," she said, pointing to one of the group. "His dragon is red, about the size of a good gelding. Every day, she sees him. In the morning, he does nothing but sit and look at the wall, and in the afternoon he mostly spars. Sometimes she passes by his room and can hear…" Salem considered carefully, then shrugged. "Nothing."

There was a disappointed silence, then Alexandros said, "And that's all?"

Salem nodded. "That's all. He's not different or anything besides the fact he's got a dragon. If he is, Beltane hasn't heard about it."

"I don't believe you," Riane declared forcefully. "Our Majesty has a dragon, and you've got to admit he's…" she lowered her voice and said, "different. So," she continued, her voice returning to its normal pitch, "anyone who's a Rider has got to be different. So there."

"Truth is boring," Salem drawled. "Sorry to disappoint you."

The conversation rapidly returned to the debate of various rumors. Salem listened idly to all of them, eyes fixed mostly on the road ahead. "So," Charis's voice said suddenly into her ear, "I take it that you like your boring story?"

Salem twisted, startled. "Well, yes," she said after an initial pause. "It's perfectly ordinary. It's perfectly true. I think it's perfectly fine."

"But a Rider, Salem, a Rider! He's got to be weird—not maybe a hunchback or silver-haired woman like Alexandros said, but he can't be just a man. There's got to be something…special."

"Defining?" Salem said.

"Yes, that's it! Something that marks him as a Rider. And not just the dragon," she said warningly, seeing the look on Salem's face. "I knew you were going to say that, but no. It's something different. Don't you understand?" she turned up her face towards Salem, innocently earnest.

"Well…" Salem hesitated. "I'm leaving in a week for the king's palace, anyway. Beltane recommended me to the housekeeper there, and they'll take me on as a maid. So maybe I'll see him. But really, don't expect anything. He's not that amazing."

"Everyone's got bones in their closet," Charis said. "People like to make them up, but in the long run, truthful bones are just better to chew."

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After a month at the palace, Salem had nothing interesting to say to her friend. "There's nothing even vaguely fascinating about him," Salem said to Charis on her day off, leaning against a tree. "All he does is exactly what Beltane says—he looks at the wall, he spars, he eats, he sleeps. The end."

Charis shook her head, obviously frustrated. "There has to be more! A Rider has to do more than that—don't you remember the old tales, Salem? They were great magic-workers, their dragons marvelous and mystical…"

"Charis, why are you so obsessed?" Salem groaned, rubbing her face with her hands. "Big deal, he's boring! Is that really such a revelation? The old tales are only—old tales. There's nothing to say they're true!"

"Our lord Galbatorix is a Rider, and he proves the old tales."

"Charis, you know perfectly well the dragon has nothing to do with any of it. So he's lived a longer span of years, you and I both know that that's because of his innate magic. The dragon's just…a really fancy horse."

"You give up too easily," Charis declared.

Salem grimaced. "Do I? I'm glad, because those who poke and pry too much disappear. Enough is enough, Charis. No more."

Charis sighed. "I suppose you're right," she muttered. "He is just a normal man, then."

Salem nodded, feeling completely disgusted with herself that she had to lie to her old friend.

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Salem returned to the palace that night, feeling shaken. "My poor friend," she murmured to herself. "There's so much in this palace that you don't know…and so much out of it, too."

From under her tunic she drew a small crystal, running her hands over its smooth surface. Breathing softly on it, she whispered, "Eka shakel sa Galbatorix…atra iet rinyi elha hórnya." I am an enemy of Galbatorix, let my voice be heard.

The crystal glittered softly, then a picture formed and shimmered within it. "Are you there, Blackfire?" a hushed voice whispered from the stone.

"I'm here," she said quietly.

"Good," came the reply. "Tell me what you know."

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Yes, I know. Murtagh's not even mentioned by name in this chapter. I am branching out a little bit, but this will all be wrapped up and explained…soon. Is Salem or Charis better for Murtagh, or do you hate them both and want to start anew with Beltane? In a romantic relationship, I mean.

Once again, please R and R! Thanks!

PS. If you don't like this too much, please bear with me and say so. I know this has a really different tone from the other chapters, but I'll explain soon! 


	5. Chapter 5

Two updates in one week! I'm happy :)

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_3/30/101_

Murtagh stood on his balcony, dressed in nothing but a pair of dark pants. Reaching out, he called silently, _Thorn?_

The answer came instantly. _Yes, I'm here,_ Thorn said, landing gracefully on the railing. The one and a half month old dragon already a decent size, able to carry Murtagh over short distances and too large to fit anywhere in Murtagh's quarters besides the balcony. _Is something wrong? You look…distressed._

Reaching out a hand to stroke Thorn's scales, Murtagh asked quietly, _Thorn, how far are you able to fly within Galbatorix's leash?_

The red dragon considered it thoughtfully before saying, _A couple miles, no farther the Ramr River. Why? Thinking of breaking out?_

This was said in a humorless tone. Both of them, Brikijae Knívarya and Sílngr Leskulna had sworn oaths of loyalty to Galbatorix. The muscles around Murtagh's mouth tightened as he remembered the fire that had laced across his body when he had refused to initially. Thorn was quiet, remembering with him. Finally, the dragon broke the trance by nipping Murtagh gently. _There's no use remembering,_ Thorn said mildly. _Besides, you have to admit it's not all that bad. We're treated like…like…_

_Crazy guests of honor?_

_Yeah, that's about right. People tiptoe around us, but at least we're left alone by most people. And as for Galbatorix…he doesn't hurt you too much, Murtagh. He doesn't even seen you that much, as other people spar you. And Shruikan's absolutely insane, but he doesn't mean any harm to you or me. Just Galbatorix._

Murtagh accepted this with a nod before changing the subject. _Do you believe in dreams, Thorn?_

The red dragon scratched himself, snorting a puff of smoke outwards. He was still unable to breathe fire, but Shruikan's ministerings were working. Slowly. _Well, should I? My dreams are all about eating, and I eat the next day. Does that mean they come true? _

_I don't know,_ Murtagh said. _Call this a vision if you like, but I saw Arya. I told you who Arya is, right? There was something with her, somebody in the shadows. She spoke to me, Thorn—it was so real, as if I could actually reach out and touch her._

_What did she say?_ Thorn asked, his tail whipping lazily from side to side.

_It was a riddle, _Murtagh admitted lightly. _Actually, now that I remember, it wasn't Arya who said it. It was the creature behind her, a white bird. All the time cawing and dropping feathers all over me; I wanted to wring its scrawny neck just to get it to shut up. But then it said something that really caught my ear, Thorn. It said…_ Murtagh closed his eyes, remembering.

_When Vrael's eye lies in fateful rest,_

_And jackals shimmer of ev'ry shade,_

_Wyrda's feet are put to the test,_

_And the threads be hewn by death's dark blade?_

Thorn blinked his large red eyes slowly before answering. _The simple answer would be to say no, I don't think there's anything to this. It would save a lot of headaches, you know. And I mean a lot. _He sighed. _But of course, you think there's something to this, don't you?_

_Of course,_ Murtagh said, slightly miffed. _Arya spoke after that bird, Thorn. I don't remember what exactly, but it was something along the lines of…oh, I can't remember it anymore,_ he growled. _The dream's gone. _

_You can remember a crazy riddle but not what the pretty elf-girl said,_ Thorn said teasingly.

Murtagh shoved Thorn off the windowsill. The red dragon tumbled for a few heartclenching seconds before flaring his wings, raising himself up to Murtagh's elevation. _One day I will actually fall and break my neck,_ he declared loftily. _You will be sorry then. Oh, dear me, it's almost dawn. It's time for your food, Murtagh. Try not to fall off the balcony while Daddy goes off hunting. You're a big boy now._

The red dragon propelled itself off the balcony, flitting gracefully into the woods surrounding the palace. Murtagh sighed in mock exasperation as he reentered his room. The smile that had appeared on his face rapidly disappeared as Galbatorix entered the room—as usual, not bothering to knock.

"Yes?" Murtagh asked curtly.

"Two things," Galbatorix said. "One, put on a shirt. Two, your magic training starts today."

Murtagh's gut clenched. The only one suitable to teach him magic was Galbatorix, and that meant more contact with the king. "Oh," he said finally, revulsion obvious in his voice. "I see. I already know some."

"Well, obviously not enough!" the king shouted. "If I say 'malthinae', how will you counter it?"

"Losna," Murtagh answered warily.

Galbatorix's mouth twisted into a sneer. "Well, at least you don't lie. How about…jierda!"

The word crackled with magic, slamming violently into Murtagh. He collapsed to the ground, his leg snapping easily into two, the bones jutting through skin. Murtagh cried out in pain, slumping onto the floor. _Thorn!_

"You see," Galbatorix said, his voice turning light and conversational, "that is what happens when you don't know magic. What I am teaching you now may well save your life later. Get up, and meet me in the dining hall. I'll heal your leg there."

The sorcerer-king left, the door thumping firmly shut behind him. Murtagh bit his lip, searching for a hold to lever himself up, gritting back waves of agony from his leg. Blood was pouring from his leg, staining the carpets. Thorn, summoned by his former cry, appeared in the balcony. _Oh, damn,_ the dragon swore. _I can't help you, Murtagh. Call for a servant, they can help you better than I. _

_Wait,_ Murtagh said weakly, his vision beginning to swim. _The femoral artery…I think it's broken…_

Thorn snaked an arm inside and pressed heavily down on Murtagh's leg, causing his Rider to scream in pain. _Sorry, sorry, sorry!_ Thorn cried before releasing an ear-shattering bellow.

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The giant roars made the servants anywhere near the second floor look at each other fearfully. "That's the dragon," a servant, Reynold, whispered. "The Rider's dragon!"

"It's coming to eat us!" Whispers came back up and down the halls, becoming more and more ghastly each time. Salem traded looks with Reynold and crept down the hall. "His Majesty just went through that door," Reynold said nervously. "Maybe he's still inside…?"

Salem shuddered, touching a hand to her crystal necklace involuntarily, taking courage from its pulsing warmth. "Do you think it would hurt to ask?"

A servant appeared on the other side of the hallway, taking a hesitant step closer. "His Majesty left," Yanice said, looking anxiously at the door. "I think he's really in trouble."

"A Rider? In trouble?" Reynold shook his head. "Not possible."

"Sounds like it's the dragon who's in trouble," Yanice said darkly. "Maybe it's hungry."

Salem placed a shaking hand on the doorknob and leaned her ear against the door, listening. "Well, if it is, we'll leave, won't we?" she said to no one in particular. "It's too big to fit through the door anyway…"

She swung the door open and yelped in fear as a giant draconian head swung to glare viciously at her. Behind her, Reynold and Yanice entered with a similar reaction. "All right," Salem said in a quivering voice. "We'll leave. No problems there."

_Wait!_ The voice made all three jump as the dragon's consciousness brushed into theirs. _He needs help. Please!_

"It can talk," Yanice squeaked. "It's alive!"

The dragon ignored this comment and continued. _Get him down to the dining hall. Somebody tie a tourniquet around his leg, or else he's going to bleed to death. Hurry. Please!_

Salem was the first to act. "All right," she said, walking forward on rubbery legs. "No problem." Taking a blanket, she wrapped it around the unconscious man's leg and pulled it tight, uncomfortably aware of the dragon's hot breath. "Help me," she appealed to Reynold and Yanice. "I can't carry him alone."

They snapped out of their funk, kneeling by him. "On the count of three," Reynold said. "One, two, three—"

Straining under the man's weight, they hoisted him up, Yanice supporting the broken leg with a grimace. As they exited the room, the dragon called out, _Thank you!_

None of them answered the dragon. "Heavy," Reynold grunted. "What do Riders eat all day?"

Yanice whimpered. "The blood will never come out," she said, holding the leg gingerly. "Oh…"

"Hurry," Salem replied. "Faster we go, less time for blood to drip…oh, I never want to do this again. This is so…"

"Not fun," Reynold supplied, looking sickened.

The other servants gave them a generous leeway as they made their way down the steps to the dining hall. It was hard to bow with an unconscious man bleeding in your hands, but somehow they managed to do it to King Galbatorix, who was sitting there with a bored expression on his face. "Took him bloody long enough," he sighed. "Must learn to be more punctual in life. You're dismissed."

"Was that _humor_?" Salem hissed as they ran up back to the second floor.

"It's very depressing," Reynold agreed. "Being a Rider makes you morbid, I guess."

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Four pages! Well, Murtagh's in this one, and so's Salem, and what you should recognize as the crazy raven, Blagden, in Ellesméra.

This all happens while Eragon is in training, but it's getting incredibly complicated…but more interesting for me to type. But this will make sense in the end, I promise. Salem does have a purpose. claps hands

How long was Eragon in Ellesméra? Does anyone know?

Please review! People who review are cool :)


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry it's late, everyone—I took an extra day to edit this.

Reviews (yay, yay, yay!)

Saucy Dog: Hey, five reviews! Thanks! Yes, chapter four is where the tone drastically changes, and it might be a little weird. But it makes for a much more interesting story. :)

Du Weldenvarden Farcai: Thanks! Sorry this chapter's late.

Dragonfox46: Okay. I'm sticking the length at approximately 10 months or so. Thank you!

Ambushing Pink Ziploc: Thanks for the advice. I'm a girl, yeah, so that may be why Thorn sounds like a girl. grimaces Anyway, Thorn's not in the chapter (much) and he'll have a more…manly tone, I guess.

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_3/30/101_

Murtagh sat up, head spinning as he gazed out blindly into the mist. His instincts screamed that someone was near, but he could neither see nor hear anyone. _Thorn?_ he called out, searching with his magical link.

There was no reply. Murtagh swallowed heavily, standing. "Who's there?" he called brusquely. "Show yourself!"

A harsh caw echoed down towards him, bouncing down unseen corridors. Murtagh stood, waiting, tense. Was this a dream? It didn't have the same ethereal quality most dreams had; he was fully aware of it as if it were real. "Wyrda!" came the shriek.

White feathers flashed by. Murtagh's hand shot up automatically, grabbing the bird's tail feathers. It gave a grating cry as the feathers came loose. Murtagh gazed down at the feathers in his hand, then closed his hands around them as they disintegrated into fine powder. "Wyrda!" the shout came, much closer.

"Fate," Murtagh said quietly. "Who are you?"

"Names are powerful things," a voice said. "However, in this place you may know me as the Watcher. Aye, the Watcher. Or, if you should so wish, Maud."

"Maud," Murtagh repeated, rolling the word around in his mouth. "Maud. Were you the dream-creature that gave me the riddle? Where's Arya?"

The mists cleared, revealing a woman-child with shaggy hair and white fangs. "I thought it would please you to see a person you knew, and no, I'm not the speaker you seek. Blagden annoys me, but he is useful." Holding out an arm, the white bird came to rest upon it, fixing beady eyes on Murtagh.

"Wyrda!"

"He's shy," Maud said with a mirthful smile. "Tends to say what he only wishes to say."

"Why are you here?" Murtagh demanded. "And what did the riddle mean?"

She eyed him for a long time before finally answering. "We have ways of getting around," she said evasively. "The second dragon has hatched…don't worry, I'm very good at keeping secrets. Your brother has arrived in Ellesméra, though that will have no effect on you for the time being."

"Are you on the side of the Varden?" Murtagh asked. "Are you here to help?"

Her smile widened. "What's a side but merely a perspective? What's a perspective but a combination of thoughts? My thoughts I'm not willing to share…listen to me carefully, for I will not return. This form of communication saps my energy. Beware of chains that are not made of iron…and you would do well to heed the riddle."

With a laugh, she vanished, the bird with her. The mists began to fade into darkness. "Wait!" Murtagh cried. "Come back!"

"I'm here, you fool!" a harsh voice boomed suddenly. "It's about time you woke up!"

Murtagh jerked awake with a gasp, his hand going automatically to the place in his belt where his sword would've been. He was in the dining room, splayed onto one of the chairs-of-honor next to the king's on the dais. "What—" he managed eloquently, feeling like Thorn had just stepped on him.

"So," a sardonic voice said. "The brave Rider awakens."

Murtagh swallowed, sitting up. "What day is this?" he asked. "What time?"

"Late afternoon of the same day," Galbatorix yawned. "I've been waiting for you to get up since. Didn't think the wound would slow you down that much," he goaded. "What are you, a weakling?"

Murtagh turned away, refusing to rise to the bait. "I'm awake now," he said flatly. "So?"

"So," Galbatorix said, standing. "Today, we begin our study of magic, you and I. You've seen its effects for yourself, haven't you? Now, I daresay you have a fair vocabulary already—there's no other way, being the son of Morzan. We'll start in the ways of those traditional Riders that you love so much. Follow me."

He marched out of the dining hall into a wide, sprawling courtyard, a well at one end and a horse trough at the other. Smirking, Galbatorix handed him a sieve. "You will not leave this courtyard, nor eat, nor drink, until that horse trough is filled. Understand?"

Murtagh looked at the sieve in his hand, then at the hundreds of yards between bucket and well. "I see," he said. "And…?"

Galbatorix shrugged. "Try, 'reisa du adurna'. You might have a little success."

The sorcerer-king left, leaving Murtagh alone in the courtyard. Reisa du adurna, words of the ancient language. Morzan could—when he was alive—work magic, and Eragon could also. Tighting his grip on the sieve, he declared, "Reisa du adurna!"

Nothing happened.

Maybe one needed to be in contact with the dragon in order to release the…magic-making force. Murtagh shook his head in disgust before calling his dragon. Magic was not his field. He understood the words, but didn't know anything truly about it. _Thorn?_ he called quietly. _Thorn, where are you?_

A sudden explosion of pictures flashed in Murtagh's mind, filtered through the obvious fear in Thorn's mind. In his mind's eye, Murtagh glimpsed Shruikan, roaring insanely and spitting fire viciously at the young dragon. _Morofin!_ the dragon shrieked, mad with sorrow and fury. _What have you done to him?_

_I'm busy!_ Thorn shouted unnecessarily at Murtagh. _Not now!_

Murtagh took a deep breath, trying to stop Thorn's own fear from turning into hysteria. "All right," he said, wiping sweating palms on his tunic and trying not to bare his teeth as Thorn was doing. Stemming the connection, he walked over to the well. If it took days without magic, he might as well start now.

It was a mindnumbing chore, punctuated by frustration as the water continually dripped out (it _was_ a sieve, after all). Sometime after the sun had set and the hourly guard had switched four times, Murtagh had had enough. This was pointless, and it was stupid! Glaring down the well, he barked, "Reisa du adurna!"

The surface of the water rippled slightly, and to his astonishment, a shaking bubble of water rose from the surface of the well. Murtagh gaped at it, his body shaking as he struggled to maintain the sphere.

A sudden cry burst into his mind—_Murtagh!_

_Thorn!_ Murtagh shouted, startled. The sphere fell back into the water with a heavy splash. _Thorn, where are you?_

Murtagh feltThorn snarl, lashing out with sharp claws at whatever was threatening him. A picture flashed for a single instant before vanishing. _Gal—_Thorn managed before the connection disappeared.

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Three guesses as to who 'Gal' is. This is fun! I will bring Salem into the next one…and maybe explain a little bit about the mysterious necklace-crystal back in chapter…four? Or was it three?

I love werecats. Christopher hasn't explained too much about them, but hey, if they can turn into people, what else can they do?

If Murtagh is slipping out of character, I apologize. I'm trying to keep him stiff and cold around Galbatorix, but he should be his normal self elsewhere. Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers—I appreciate and take your comments into thought.

Keep on reviewing:)

Disclaimer (I haven't had one of these in a while…):

Don't sue! I'm innocent! I just borrowed them for a little while… sobs


	7. Chapter 7

Reviews!

Mrs Pierre Bouvier: Thank you. Yes, what few fics I've read that focus around Murtagh depict him as either a sissy or insane. I hope I'm walking a good line between the two.

Saucy Dog: Thanks for the concrit. I hope this chapter's better, albeit a little depressing.

T.J. Silver: Um…thank you?

Here's the story! Sorry it's late everyone :)

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_3/30/101_

Thorn screamed with fury, slicing with needle-sharp claws at the sorcerer-king as the communication with Murtagh was cut off. Next to him, Shruikan shook his head, screeching with rage and pain as he struggled against the web of spells that sank over his head, binding him to Galbatorix's will.

_What did you do to me? _Thorn shouted furiously, lunging forward. _What did you do to Murtagh?_

Galbatorix held up a hand, screaming, "Letta!" Thorn froze in midair, legs moving in a futile effort to gain ground. With a grunt, Galbatorix lowered his hand, gazing at the two captive dragons. Shruikan was quiet now, giant tears trickling from his eyes.

_What do you want?_ Thorn managed, his voice tight with anger.

"Want? Want? What do I want?" Galbatorix said, eyes darting from one dragon to the other. He grinned; a slow, evil smile spreading over his face. "There are many things that I want, dragon. There are things I will never have. But there are things I will."

He turned away, muttering under his breath. Thorn shook his head, snapping at the air as if he could bite into the magic holding him there, calling to Murtagh. _Where are you? Answer me!_

The heavy thunk of the cavern door broke into his thoughts. His eyes picked out two guards, their human eyes darting blindly about into the gloom. Between them they carried a third man, grossly mutilated. Thorn recoiled at the sight, his voice lashing out sharply. _What did you do to him, Galbatorix!_

Galbatorix ignored him, striding over to the tortured man, dismissing the guards with a nod. "Well," he said in a voice laden with contempt as he grabbed the man by what remained of his shirt. "Here's the traitor with the iron mouth." He grinned mirthlessly. "But not the iron mind, I see."

The man gurgled softly, blood trickling out of the sides of his mouth. One eye had been punctured, weeping a bright line of clear fluid. The other was glassy, staring blindly at Galbatorix. The king turned to Thorn. "How would you address a traitor?" he asked the dragons quite calmly. "If one was planning to overthrow me, how would you answer?"

Shruikan gave a soft moan, while Thorn tried to think of an evasively true answer in the ancient language. Personally, he would rejoice if Galbatorix was overthrown, but that was not the right answer. _I would do what you wish,_ he said finally. That was true, as he had no choice in the manner.

Galbatorix snorted ruthlessly. "I see," he said flatly. His eyes glinting with a cold light, he said softly, "Then I want you to torture this man. Losna."

Thorn dropped to the ground as the spell released him, aghast. _What? Why!_

"Just do it, Sílngr Leskulna," Galbatorix snapped, invoking Thorn's secret name. "I want your claws to rip through his body. I want you to cause this man the utmost pain possible for the longest time possible. I have already found what I needed, and now I want him to suffer. Do you understand?" The last word was a half-roar as Galbatorix stared wildly at Thorn. "Do it!"

Thorn's claws reached forward, no longer under his control.

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Salem walked down the corridor into her quarters, trying to appear nonchalant when in reality she was already shaking. It was late. Locking the door behind her, she drew out the crystal necklace slowly, whispering the password that would open the connection.

The picture shimmered to life, hovering within the crystal. Salem looked into the eyes of her contact, known only as 'Aliya'. "It's good to see you, Blackfire," Aliya greeted her. "You are sure you are alone?"

Salem laughed nervously. "Well, as alone as I can get. Thank Jina for arranging single quarters," she said, naming another. "It's easier than having to sneak it with three other people in the room."

Aliya nodded solemnly. "Heii's gone missing," she said softly. "Blackfire, I know that when we first recruited you, the agreement was that you would not participate in Peregrine. However, Talinia can't pull this off alone."

"I'm not a magicker!" Salem said, horrified. "I agreed to information only, Aliya. Maybe set up a couple things, but not actually _do_ it!"

"You know we've set up every precaution. We'll have a magicker enspell you with every single cloaking, stealth, whatever spell we can possibly think of, and give you a couple charms that'll enable you to draw on the energy inside and make up your own rudimentary spells. Talinia's good, but she's not that good—"

"She can fight! I can't! I can barely behead chickens as it is—"

"It's a simple matter to learn how to speak a few words and release a spell from stored energy," Aliya said sternly. "There is always risk, Blackfire. You knew that. If Heii has indeed been captured and is tortured to reveal who we are, then we have been dealt a severe blow, and there's a chance you may be captured anyway. There is always risk, so why not do something worthwhile while you're at it?"

Salem shook her head shakily. "I—I'll—I just _can't! _How—how much did Heii know?"

"Think about it," Aliya advised, ignoring the question. "If you don't do it, we'll have to either pull someone into the palace, or else recruit someone new." The picture began to fade. "And," she said as if from far away, "that may be even riskier…"

The room fell silent. Salem threw herself onto her bed, staring moodily at the crystal. "I hate myself," she muttered darkly. "Why did I get myself involved in this mess in the first place?"

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The mental connection linking Murtagh to Thorn had appeared as quickly as it had vanished. Murtagh closed his eyes, calling to the companion of his soul. _Thorn? What hap—_

_No!_ Thorn was screaming, a terrible mixture of rage, disgust, and shame. _Murtagh, I can't—I can't stop—I—_

_Thorn!_ Murtagh said, alarmed. _Thorn, what's wrong?_

All that answered was a wordless cry.

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_1. Depressing _

I know I put Galbatorix in a really bad light, but you have to understand how I'm trying to put his character here. He's an insecure, spoiled royal tyrant. He revels in power but is constantly insecure that'll it be taken away, and he lashes out most horribly at those who try.

When Eragon encounters Murtagh in _Eldest,_ Murtagh and Thorn are both pretty nasty and bitter. That comes from Galbatorix's work—he'll keep on forcing worse and worse things onto the two of them.

_2. Happy_

But yes, there will be happiness (I'm not _that_ morbid!). Anytime over the next few chapters if you think it's way too depressing tell me. I'll stick something cheery in. And this _is_ a romance story, so never fear!

Keep on reviewing! I take your advice pretty seriously. Reviewers are cool :)


	8. Chapter 8

Mrs Pierre Bouvier: That's an interesting idea, about the elves. It could work out something maybe. :)

in these chains: Thanks! Not much torture this time around, but there will probably be just a teensy bit more as I'm trying to make these a wee bit dark. Still, it's rated T so it can't be super gory.

Crazy Ape: Thank you. I like your pen name.

Here's the story!

Disclaimer: Own nothin' (except what's mine). Don't sue.

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_4/1/101_

_The man no longer resembled a human as much as a torn, mutilated carcass. Yet, miraculously, he still lived._

_A last, waning spark of electricity and a weak pump of his heart kept him alive. He clung to last wisps of thoughts like a drowning man onto a rope, constantly dipping under a flow of insane mutterings. He had to remember. He had to._

aliyasilícataliniainthecastleeggGalbatorGalbatorixstopbetrayedtaliniaaliyaheadwho?Whowillwho—

_Sleep was so tempting. He could no longer feel the pain of his torn body, swaying constantly in and out of consciousness, kept alive by sheer willpower. _

heknows…mindknowsknowsdragonfindaliyaperegrine…

_He knew so much, and loved her so deeply. They would know now. They would know everything. They would find her, hurt her. They would kill any hope left, destroy Peregrine beyond repair._

_Defeat weighed him down. Joshua, otherwise known as Heii, let go. There was nothing left for him or Peregrine._

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Salem was tense for the next two days, flinching from shadows and curt with everyone she knew. Reynold, who had rapidly become her best friend in the palace, took her aside one day to confront her.

"You're being such a grump," he said frankly. "Nasty, sharp—Salem, is something wrong? You're so mouse-like, too, scared of your own shadow. Kind of like Yanice."

Salem winced. "Um. I'm sorry, Reynold. Gods forbid I ever be like Yanice. It's just…" she hesitated, looking into his familiar, open face. Behind that look could lurk a spy, an informer placed by Galbatorix among his own servants. _No,_ Salem decided. _I can't_.

"I haven't, uh, I haven't gone home in a while," she lied after a pause. "I'm homesick. Charis, the folks, you know." She shrugged. "I'll get over it."

Reynold eyed her skeptically. "Right," he drawled. "That's the case, isn't it?"

Salem squirmed under his look, hating the doubt in his eyes. "Yeah," she said. "That's it."

He took a step back. "Salem, stop lying to me! I'm your friend, all right? I can tell when you're lying, partly because I know you, and partly because you are a horrible liar. Salem." He took her hand, his face wide and earnest. "Tell me."

She wanted to tell so badly. He was her friend, for gods' sakes! She knew him, just like he knew her! Salem's mouth opened slowly. "I—I—can't."

Reynold dropped her hand, his eyes sad and disappointed. Leaning forward, he kissed her gently on the mouth. "I'll always be here for you," he whispered into her ear. "Remember that."

He walked away, his footsteps muffled on the plush carpet. Salem stood limply, her mouth open with shock, a strange ringing in her ears. "Oh, my," she whispered to herself.

_You idiot!_ one part of her mind called. _Don't just stand there! Call after him!_

_No!_ her sensible conscience said. _Don't, Salem…you don't know what you might say…_

_Oh, screw it,_ she decided. Wrapping her arms around herself, she called softly, "Reynold!"

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Thorn was inconsolable, broken-hearted over the inability to control his own actions. Murtagh shared his misery, but was separated so often from his dragon that they didn't get much opportunity to talk. Galbatorix seemed in an inhumanly good mood for the next few days, taking the time to drill Murtagh in the area of manipulating water. Within three days, Murtagh was in a thoroughly bad mood, sandwiched in between Thorn's own sorrow and Galbatorix's endless cries of, "_Become_ the water!"

One day, after nearly beheading his sparring partner's head in a sudden flare of temper, Murtagh stalked back to his room only to bump into two servants in the hall, kissing discreetly. They jumped apart like startled rabbits when he came near. "Oh, beg pardon!" the girl yelped.

Murtagh eyed her grumpily. "Go on," he said finally. "Just don't do it where people can see you."

She curtseyed, dropping her eyes to the ground. Murtagh sighed. Everyone in the palace thinks I'm crazy, he thought for the umpteenth time. "Just don't," he repeated as he entered his room.

To his surprise, Thorn was on his balcony, tail coiled neatly around his paws. Murtagh walked towards him, mildly alarmed. Thorn was rapidly growing, almost too big to fit onto the balcony these days. _What, Thorn?_ he asked, reaching out in the connection. _Is everything all right?_

Thorn turned red eyes onto him, glaring balefully. _Yes, everything's all right! I hardly even talk to my Rider, Shruikan tried to stomp me today, and I can't even hunt properly because the trees are too close together in the woods. I'm fine! Just fine!_

_I can't talk to you more often because Galbatorix gives me lessons,_ Murtagh growled.

The red dragon reared, hissing. _That doesn't matter. You literally close me off, Murtagh. You block your mind with the same block you give to everyone except Galbatorix, and that's only because you can't, or else you would. What is the matter with you? Are you in denial or something?_

_In den—_Murtagh spun away, absolutely infuriated. _In denial of what! I have my problems, and so do you, Thorn, but I am not in denial._

_I had to rip that man apart!_ Thorn screamed. _I should think my problems are the tiniest bit larger than yours, you self-centered, egotistic—_

Murtagh shook his head, incensed. _Egotistic! What? Look, Thorn. I understand what it must have felt, but bloody, terrible things happen._ His tone softened, and he sighed. _People do things for no reason, and if you dwell on it, all it will serve to do is drive you insane with your own pain. You can't let it possess you, Thorn._

The dragon was silent. _I guess,_ he said finally. _But still…_

_You didn't do it of your own will. _Murtagh watched Thorn turn his head away, red eyes scanning the horizon determinedly. _We are two beings, Thorn, but we share one mind. Anyone who could possibly understand us are—_His throat gripped involuntarily as he thought of Eragon, his brother, and the dragon, Saphira. Nasuada, for whom he had nursed a tentative love. Ajihad and Hrothgar, both men he had respected. All of them, fugitives, pursued by the man who held his chains. _They're far away,_ he said finally.

Thorn stuck his head into the room, nuzzling Murtagh's hand gently. _Were they good friends?_ he asked, gleaning the images of people as they rose to Murtagh's mind.

_As good as any,_ Murtagh replied softly. _Gone, now._

_We'll see them again,_ Thorn said reassuringly. _We will._

Grabbing Murtagh's shirt, the dragon pulled his Rider into the balcony. _Come on, Murtagh, _he said. _You're a Rider, I'm your dragon. We haven't talked much lately, have we? C'mon, let's fly._

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I hope that moment was suitably happy. Or wistful, pick an adjective. Anyway, next chapter will start with a little note that Salem was right. Or her conscience, anyway.

You may gather what conclusions you wish from Heii's ramblings. In case I didn't make it clear, though, he has been driven insane by constant torture. As a result, his thoughts might not be entirely truthful.

I'm trying to keep Murtagh in character, but I only have a copy of _Eldest _right now and Murtagh doesn't appear too much in that. So please excuse anything that might be incorrect in his character.

Please review! Reviewers are super funky cool!


	9. Chapter 9

Reviews! Yeaaaah!

Du Weldenvarden Farcai: Thank you!

in these chains: Yep. No Thorn here, some more next chapter. Thorn comes really natural because he's a bit of me when I'm feeling snippy :)

Erulastiel: They're always good inside. It's just Galbatorix that's an ass.

Trinity Anya: Hey, haven't seen you in a while! Thanks!

Mistress-of-Misery: No, you do a great review! Keeping Murtagh in character is a bit of a struggle for me…but underneath all the warrior-ness he's just really a human.

Shutting up now…

(WARNING: LOTS OF X'S IN THIS CHAPTER)

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_4/1/101_

Murtagh returned to the castle that night in a cheerful mood. He and Thorn parted amiably, and he even whistled a tune or two as he walked.

A tiny, flickering light near the stables caught his eye. Grimacing, he changed course abruptly. A lantern left untended could cause a stable fire. While he didn't particularly mourn the loss of coins in Galbatorix's coffers, the horses in the stables were fine, magnificent creatures that didn't deserve to burn.

Murtagh reached out one hand for the handle, then stopped abruptly. There were voices, indistinct. Female voices. He edged closer, listening carefully.

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From birth, Tria Aitalin had been an amazingly brash girl, the source of constant headaches for her father and constant tears for her mother. As soon as she was sixteen, Tria left home. She was tired of the "let's have a talk" that cropped up about every other day, as her parents sat her down and tried to bash in a little of what it meant to be a woman to her. The talks were boring. Marriage was boring. Being a woman was boring, at least her parents' ideas of a woman. When she grew up, she left. And that was that.

Sixteen. Young, headstrong, with not a penny or care in the world. She was free.

Nobody could say life was boring now. Tria assumed the identity of a dutiful maid in the day and a shadowy lurker of the alleys in Uru'baen at night. It was there that she first met Milek, who introduced her to Gurdok, who in turn introduced her to Heii. From the moment she met Heii, Tria knew instantly she was in love.

Well, sort of, anyway.

Heii became her mentor. He wasn't growing any younger at forty years old, but was still fit enough to get involved in something deep and dirty that he called Peregrine. Tria followed him out of a deep, childlike devotion and a growing curiosity, a hunger for what he was showing her each day. Peregrine became an obsession, a terrible fixation. What was Peregrine? What did it involve? And more importantly—_who was she?_

It wasn't too hard to ferret out the answers one by one. Using what Tria liked to call "subtle influences", she kicked her way to the top. Having Heii for a teacher didn't hurt, nor did her ability to wield magic, fair strong magic too. The day was drawing closer; everything was set, prepared, and raring to go.

Then Heii was captured, betrayed by a nameless ghost in the sewers. Two weeks after his disappearance, he was publicly tortured, and a while after that, crucified over the city as an example to all "most evil traitors". Tria found herself tackling Peregrine alone, stepping to fill shoes a tad too large for her. One could not do this alone.

A friend of a friend told a friend who told her about Blackfire. The girl was young, beyond suspicion, too meek to be involved in anything, or so it apparently seemed. Best of all, she worked in the palace—easy to reach, easy to convert. Most importantly, easy to eliminate.

A contact of hers who kept in touch with Blackfire had told her that the girl might possibly—_possibly—_help Peregrine fly. "A hidden flame," she had called it.

Tria was skeptical. She had met Blackfire before, but the girl didn't seem particularly special. Or did she?

Well, maybe. After musing it over for quite a while, Tria decided to give it a try. She pulled a few strings here and there and set up a clandestine meeting in the stables. One never knew these days what a person could do.

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Salem jumped at the sound of a voice behind her. "Blackfire," whispered a voice, calm and authoritative. "You've kept your word."

She laughed nervously, turning around. "Well, I didn't really have much choice, did I?" Salem said almost hysterically. "I mean, it was either that or miss out on all the fun! Talinia, is that right?"

"Lower your voice," the woman said sharply, eyes glinting from under her hood. "You don't know who might be hearing."

"Of course. Right. Well, I've decided and my answer is no. I have a life, I don't want to lose it, and, and, you can go do Peregrine and I won't say a word but I won't do it and that's my final word. Yes. That's it. I, I, I don't—"

Talinia observed her calmly, waiting for Salem to run out of words. "You're afraid," she said simply.

Salem bristled at the implied insult. "I'm not a coward," she snapped. "I'm just not stupid. And I don't want to die."

"Well," Talinia said. "You have a choice. Very simply put, you can die now or later. You cannot stand up to _his_ torturers, Blackfire. Heii was tortured publicly and privately, torn apart in and out. You will not be able to endure that without saying a single word. If you will not aid us, you are a loose end. And loose ends are eliminated."

"Are you blackmailing me?" Salem snapped, fingers curling into fists, her fear suddenly washed away under her anger. "Saying that if I don't help you, you'll kill me? Why couldn't I help you the way I was going to before, instead of sticking my neck on the chopping block by refusing? I won't stand this!"

"You called it blackmail. Not I." Talinia paused for a long second before continuing. "However…if you swear yourself to us, we will bind you with certain words that will make sure you do not have to endure torture. You will simply die. But the risk of that is low," she added hastily. "Once Peregrine is completed, we will take you out of the city immediately. You would be safe."

"My sister?" Salem demanded sharply. "My father?"

"We will make sure no link can be traced to you, Blackfire," Talinia answered softly. "And no link, thus, to them."

Salem's face was a study in frustration as she paced. "Well, I don't know."

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Tria was unimpressed by Blackfire at first. She seemed rather cowardly…but then, something snapped in the girl and she was arguing fiercely, a glimmer of spirit poking through.

Interesting.

Tria kept talking. Calmly, carefully, all the time reaching out with her magic to lightly brush the other's mind. It gave way easily—Blackfire evidently had had no mental defenses. That would have to change. Probing carefully, Tria delved into the girl's mind, sniffing for any trace of treachery.

There was none. Good. Tria began to withdraw herself when something caught her mental eye. There was a relationship in Blackfire's life…not good. With who?

"Talinia!"

The shout snapped Tria back into reality. "What, Blackfire?" she said, trying to disguise how shaken she felt.

Blackfire was staring at her with a fixed, strange expression. "Something happened then, didn't it," she said slowly, more to herself than anything. "What did you do, Talinia?"

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Talinia met Salem's stare calmly. "Nothing you need to be concerned about," she said. "Well?"

Salem shook her head, her mind racing. Something had happened then, and she was fairly sure Talinia had something to with it. "What did you do?" Salem repeated.

Talinia was silent for a long time before finally answering, "I was checking," she said finally. "It was necessary."

Salem gritted her teeth. "Oh…so I might stab all of you in the back, that's it."

"It is possible," Talinia said mildly. Then—"Who is the man in your life?"

"What? You—you—did you see that in my mind? That's disgusting, poking around in people's lives! You have no right, none at all!"

"I don't care," Talinia said simply. "Rights are nothing when you have the power to overcome them. Stop acting like a child, Blackfire. It was necessary. Relationships are dangerous, especially with the wrong people. Who is it, Blackfire?"

Salem's jaw tightened as she glared at Talinia. Finally, she snapped. "Reynold. Reynold Barrickson, a good man and a good friend. He's not a traitor and never will be."

"That's what you think," Talinia muttered.

"What do you mean?" Salem said sharply, taken aback by the expression on Talinia's face.

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The name Reynold meant nothing to Tria, but Barrick did. She would have to tread carefully around this particular piece of information. "Reynold…has he ever told you about his family, Blackfire?"

"No, and he doesn't need to," Blackfire declared forcefully. "I don't care if he's a bastard, or his folks are in the king's dungeons. Reynold would never hurt me."

"Maybe not intentionally," Tria said slowly. She gazed impassively at the puzzled look on Blackfire's gaze. "Information's a powerful thing, Blackfire. You're too open...too open to know."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?" Blackfire asked, eyes narrowed.

"Your mind isn't guarded," Tria said softly. "Anyone with the least smidgen of magic could find you out. You're dangerous, Blackfire. Already, you know too much."

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Salem felt a sudden, fierce rush of fear combined with anger. "So…?" she asked, her voice sharp and challenging. "You'll kill me now, is that it?"

Talinia's demeanor, cold before, now turned positively icy. "We do not kill for no reason, Blackfire," she snarled. "We are not like _him_."

She began pacing. "No," Talinia continued, "we will teach you to guard your mind. Already, you are aware if someone touches upon you. You must learn to guard yourself. Sufficiently."

She whirled around, eyes blazing. "She was rash to tell you as much as you know. You have to learn how to guard your mind, Blackfire! Anyone on the streets could find out about Peregrine." Talinia frowned darkly. "A little information goes a long way."

Talinia's expression grew pensive. Then, decisively, she reached into her pocket for something. "Put this on," she ordered, drawing out a crystal necklace.

Salem frowned dubiously as she took it. "I already have one."

"Do you? Well, obviously not the right one. This will provide a little protection for your mind against the amateur magic-wielder." Talinia snorted. "Which is about most of the magickers you'll find hereabouts. The exceptions, of course, include…"

"Riders?" Salem said doubtfully.

"Damn right, Riders," Talinia snarled, spitting out the words viciously. "_Him_, and that new one. The Red Rider. In fact, avoid dragons in general, and their counterparts."

Salem frowned. "Well, isn't that what Peregrine's all about? Dragons?"

"Maybe," Talinia said ambiguously. "Not that it concerns you in any matter."

"Well, if I'm going to participate in Peregrine—"

"You're not," Talinia said, cutting across Salem's words. "You're young, you're stupid, and basically worthless in magic. Aliya told me there was something, but quite evidently she was wrong."

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These sharp words stung, Tria observed dryly. Blackfire's eyes narrowed. "Well, then, I've wasted my time, haven't I," she hissed. "Good bye, then."

She made for the door. Tria took a step to the right, barring Blackfire's way. "Oh, and by the way," she said conversationally, "Reynold's father is a traitor. Well, not really. He's just the king's spymaster, is all. You might like to watch your step."

Blackfire spun around, eyes wide with shock. "_What?"_

"Oh, yes," Tria commented to the air. "King's spymaster, rather famous for sowing illegitimate children. I'd imagine Reynold's mother is some streetside slut. Barrick has six bastards; two girls and four boys, each one brought up in his care." She grinned sardonically. "Good luck with that."

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Salem had had enough. "What did you want me for?" she asked in a dangerously low voice, her fury clear and barely contained. "I joined your little group because I don't like Galbatorix any more than the average citizen, and I thought perhaps I could help. But now you insult me, and you insult the man I love. Well, damn all of you, damn your stupid tricks. If I'm a loose end, who cares? I don't." Her back stiff, she stomped out the door.

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Murtagh's eyes widened. He knew both voices, echoing faintly in his memory as if from a dream.

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_End of Chapter Nine_

I'm not going go to let Salem out of the picture; I like her too much. No, she has a purpose. And there is going to be romance, as there is now. Just different.

Sorry about the delay. Holidays, lousy computers, and writer's block have made my life a happy one. Next chapter will definitely have more Murtagh and Thorn. I've been neglecting them far too much lately.

This chapter might be a little confusing as it switches back and forth between Salem's and Tria's viewpoints a LOT. I won't pull another trick like that again, I promise.

To make up for my horrid lateness, I present you with Chapter Ten…


	10. Chapter 10

This is dedicated to all my wonderful reviewers as an apology for being so late :)

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_4/1/101_

Murtagh held his breath and slipped noiselessly out the stable. What could this possibly imply?

_Thorn!_ he called, quickening his pace as he silently stalked the girl named Blackfire. _Thorn, where are you?_

_Yes?_ His dragon's voice sounded groggy, half-asleep. _Murtagh? It's late, past your bedtime…what're you doing waking me up?_

Murtagh grimaced. _Well, I am sorry to disturb you in that case. I just thought ever so vaguely you might be interested in knowing there's a REBELLION underfoot!_

_Heh! Say more,_ Thorn said, sound much more awake. _I'm listening._

Murtagh rapidly filled his dragon in on the conversation in the barn. Thorn listened, quietly thoughtful. _The voices? Your memory's very bad at remembering them…oh yes. I know. That time you got your leg chopped open by Galbatorix—Blackfire and two others helped. Talinia…I'm not sure_.

_Well, I'm following Blackfire now,_ Murtagh said tersely. _What should I do?_

_Confront her and scare the pee out of her,_ Thorn said dryly. _Or, you could go back to your room and go to sleep like you're supposed to at TWO in the morning!_

_I like the pee part better,_ Murtagh retorted. _But that's not the point, Thorn. There's this whole conspiracy…do you know anything about something called Peregrine? That came up a lot in the conversation._

Thorn hesitated. _No,_ he said finally. _Peregrine's a bird, I think…_

_Well, obviously not how they used it in their conversation. They talked a lot about participating in Peregrine. But Thorn, think about it! How could we help?_

_By not doing anything,_ the red dragon said, his voice very sharp. _If you start sneaking off to join some rebellion, Galbatorix will notice and rip the information out of you. Stay out of it!_

_What—_

Caught up in the conversation, Murtagh had failed to stick the most basic rule of stalking—don't let yourself be seen. A hard mudball/rock hit him squarely in the head. With a yelp, Murtagh dropped to the ground, hand around his eye. He hadn't seen that coming.

_I'm coming!_ Thorn cried, feeling his distress.

_No! Don't!_ Murtagh barked sharply. Severing contact, he shifted and rolled as a blur shot past him, then _somebody_ bulled into him. Murtagh's fingers closed around a wrist, and he crushed it with an iron grip. His attacker stiffened, gasping slightly.

"Don't move," he snapped.

The light shifted, revealing a young girl's face. After a pause, he connected it tentatively to the second voice in the stable. "I won't betray you," he said in a softer voice. "I promise."

Her face twisted into a strange expression, hatred mixed with animal panic. "And I'm sure there's great reason for me to trust you," she snapped angrily. "Let me go!"

Murtagh sat up slowly, her fingers still trapped in his. "Blackfire, isn't it?"

"You were in the barn," she panted, eyes flicking from side to side, the look of a cornered animal.

"Stables," Murtagh corrected.

"Whatever!" she snarled. "Like Talinia said, I've got mind defenses worth nothing. So rip through! Take whatever you want, find the disgusting, sordid details of my life. Find Peregrine." Her eyes bored into his. "It's not like I can stop you."

Murtagh hesitated, then released her wrist with a little sigh. "Go, girl," he said gruffly. "I won't."

She backed away, wincing as she touched her wrist. "I—" she began hesitantly. Abruptly stopping, she seemed to consider her words. "No," she said flatly. "I—"

Her eyes darted up, over his head, focusing on someone behind him. Murtagh hissed, spinning around, slamming into a second attacker. Mental fingers dug into the defenses in his mind, seeking to find any crack. Not quite Galbatorix-quality, Murtagh thought grimly as he threw his assailant off both mentally and physically.

A blade appeared as if by magic in his attacker's hand. Coming into the light, the woman threw herself at him, shouting words that he did not recognize. Murtagh grimaced, shouting, "Geuloth du knífr!" The blade thudded harmlessly against his cheekbone, bouncing off. The woman hurled herself right past him, shouting at Blackfire, "Run!"

_Oh, no you don't!_

Murtagh cursed as Thorn landed in front of them, red eyes glaring fiercely at the two females—Blackfire, and what had to be Talinia. _Murtagh! Are you okay?_

_I was handling it,_ Murtagh said angrily. _You didn't have to come_.

_I know you were. Are these the two lovely ladies you heard in the barn?_

_Stables,_ Murtagh corrected for the second time that night. _And yes, I believe they are._

_Huh!_ Thorn said, sounding interested. _Well, tell them I'm very pleased to meet them._

The two women couldn't hear Thorn, and if they had, they would not have been very reassured. The taller of the two—Talinia—tightened her grip on the blade. "So, Red Rider," she said coldly. "Will you destroy us now? Take us as your triumphant prisoners?"

Murtagh's face was emotionless. True. All he had to do was to ask Thorn to let out a roar, and the secondary Gate Guard—forty yards away—would arrive in a few minutes. _But that's not what we want,_ Thorn said amiably, reading his thoughts. _They're our friends. The enemy of my enemy is my friend._

_Cute cliché, _Murtagh sighed. _They aren't always true, as it turns out. _

_Ah, it's a bad beginning. No problems. Pick it up, start over with a, "Hello, I'm Murtagh! Nice to meet you!" and all will be just dandy._

_Stop acting so happy. _

Thorn shrugged, scales rippling on his broad shoulders. _It's a gift_, he said flippantly. He peered at the two women. _They don't appear to be frightened, by the way._

It was partially true. Both were glaring at Murtagh with a combination of fear, hatred, and on Blackfire's, curiosity. Murtagh glared back, feeling incredibly stupid. He had them cornered. Now what? He didn't want to kill them, or betray them…

_We could ask, _Thorn said.

_Ask what?_

_Peregrine!_ the red dragon said excitedly. _You said they said that it had something to with dragons, didn't you? Ask them!_

Murtagh frowned. _They're not just going to give it up._

_Yeah, you have a point,_ Thorn sighed. _What a pity. Well, I suppose that's that._

_We let them go? Just like that? _Murtagh asked skeptically.

_Unless you have a better idea, yes. It's not like we can join a rebellion under Galbatorix's nose._

Murtagh nodded slowly. _I suppose you're right_. Taking his mind from the connection, he said to them, "You can go."

There was a stunned pause, then Talinia said harshly, "That's all, Red Rider?"

"Yes," Murtagh said, hearing weary resignation in his voice. "I suggest you quit your posts here. Don't want to take a risk." His eyes trailed onto Talinia, and suddenly he realized who she was—the head chambermaid in the left wing of the palace. He had seen her once or twice, dishing out orders left and right to a flock of anxious maids. "Best to hide. I won't give you away—at least, not intentionally."

Blackfire nodded and made as to leave. Talinia stopped her with a flick of her hand. Her eyes riveted firmly onto Murtagh's, she said softly, "Swear it, Red Rider."

"In the ancient tongue?" Murtagh asked, his palms sweating slightly. If he swore this in the ancient language, could Galbatorix's use of his true name overcome it? What price would he have to pay? _Thorn?_ he asked, reaching out towards the dragon for advice.

_I don't know,_ the dragon answered somberly. _It's a complicated thing. I think you should put some loophole so that I would be able to tell Galbatorix, if need be._ There was a dull silence, then Thorn added softly, _I don't like betraying them either, but sometimes our hand is forced. You can't let it possess you, Murtagh._

Hearing his own words parroted back to him made Murtagh smile, a grim, dark smile. _You're right,_ he said softly. _You're growing up, Thorn. _

_I try. Now, how will you phrase it?_

Murtagh considered it for a while, acutely aware of Talinia's hostile, disbelieving stare. "Sé eka il blothr nekl meyalí ne henóe." May I be stopped from speaking of the events of this night.

Talinia listened dispassionately to the words. "Awkward wording," she said finally. "Interesting. I should think a better word would be _kajila_, communicating. Better phrasing would be _hólir nefiya, _or informing others. It's just a precaution, you see. _Nekl,_ speaking, is just so…precise."

_I think she's onto us, _Thorn remarked darkly.

Murtagh gritted his teeth. "I could turn you in right now," he barked. "You should be glad I've sworn that much already."

Talinia merely smiled, an icy half-smile that spoke volumes. With a frustrated hiss, Murtagh repeated the sentence, exchanging _nekl_ for _kajila._ Talinia nodded slowly, then said, "The dragon, if you please. I know he's sentient."

Murtagh should his head emphatically. "Of course not! He's not sentient—"

"Right," she drawled. "Repeat that in the ancient tongue." There was an uncomfortable pause, then she said, "I didn't think so. Well?"

_I think I have to,_ Thorn said slowly.

_Our true names…Thorn…_

_I know. But it's either that or show to them that we will betray them—_

_But we will!_ Murtagh shouted. _If forced, if we are put into Galbatorix's vise, we _will._ We _must.

Thorn was silent for a long time. _All right, we'll do it this way. I'll say it, and you can say I said it, and that'll be true. Except I won't have said it in the ancient tongue. How's that?_

Murtagh mentally nodded, careful to keep still. Thorn blinked in affirmation and said, _May I not communicate anyone about the events of this night either. There. It's said._

"All right," Murtagh said aloud. "Thorn til ele fayá." Thorn has also sworn.

"Good enough," Talinia said finally, after a heartwrenching pause. "I accept."

She and Blackfire both stood. "I will see you around, my lord," she said, voice laden with cold contempt. "May you keep to your oaths, and may you die screaming if you break them." Her eyes fell on Blackfire. "You and I are not finished."

She whirled on her heel and stalked away. Blackfire sighed slowly, then looked at them, her gaze going slowly from one to another. "You should go," Murtagh said shortly. "They'll be suspicious."

"Thank you," she said uncertainly. "You don't seem to particularly like Galbatorix either, and thank you for letting us go."

Murtagh stared at her, then nodded. "Go, Blackfire," he repeated into a softer voice.

She made as to leave, then paused. "Salem," she said hurriedly. "Call me Salem."

And she disappeared into the darkness.

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_End of Chapter Ten_

This story is getting nicely back on track. I am happy! Yay!

I read a bit of _Eragon_ yesterday, looking for Murtagh's character, and he really is kind of human. He's a bit sarcastic, understanding, passionate, disgruntled, and even kind. So I'm trying to inject a bit of that into his character.

Keep on reviewing!


	11. Chapter 11

Reviews!

Mistress-of-Misery: Why, thank you. I was hoping for that sort of effect!

Mrs Pierre Bouvier: Where can I find it? Is on these chains: Yes, Thorn's my favorite character too X)

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_Hoofsteps, messengers of doom, sounded outside the windows. "Shh," he whispered, his face taut with fear. "Maybe they won't see us…"_

"_I knew this would happen!" she gasped, her fingers digging into his arm. "Ever since the execution!"_

"_Come," he said softly. "We have to get out of here—" _

_The door was kicked in with an ominous crash. Soldiers jumped in, flanked by a pair of red-robed magickers. "Come out in the name of the king!" a soldier shouted._

_She whimpered slightly. "I didn't do it," she whispered. "I didn't, I didn't—"_

"_Come along," the soldier snapped, gripping their arms in an iron grasp. They followed, eyes darting nervously, too fragile, too weak to resist the probing search into their minds._

_Behind them, torches whirled; screams ripped through the air. Some chose death. Some died anyway._

_In the midst of all the confusion, no one saw them slip away._

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Galbatorix seemed in an inhumanly good humor the next day. "I shall have to depart for a little while," he said serenely after the morning's lesson. "However, I doubt you shall miss me?"

His eyes gleamed at the grim joke. Murtagh sat, tense and puzzled at this strange turn of temper. Finally, he acknowledged in a bleak voice, "Whether I do or not makes no difference, does it?"

Galbatorix smiled coldly. "Not quite, no," he said. "I'll tell you what I've found, won't I? I've found a pack of traitors." He cocked his head. "Sílica, they call themselves. Interesting—I believe it means peregrine the ancient language. Hmm. Not quite the Varden, but it is close enough. Now, how will you deal with traitors, my pupil?"

Murtagh's gut clenched slightly as he answered in a sharp voice, "I won't torture them for you."

"Ah…not willingly," Galbatorix said amiably. "Of course, will doesn't have anything to do with it." His black eyes bored into Murtagh, and for a terrible second Murtagh had the feeling Galbatorix knew exactly what he had been up to three days ago.

Then the king blinked, and the spell was broken. "Ah," he sighed. "Innocence, son of my friend, is a quality that we lose all too quickly." He turned slightly, an ominous expression flickerng about his eyes. "I'll tell you a story, shall I? The story of Shruikan."

Murtagh looked down onto his hands, his mouth tightened in impatience and anger. Galbatorix didn't seem to notice. "A fine feat, if I do say so myself," he reminisced. "He's a excellent dragon, despite his…" Galbatorix paused, as if searching for the right word. "Despite his _erratic _behavior, shall we say. But I am the stronger, as always, and I took him from an undeserving lady. Now we are bonded as securely as Ryanle and I were."

Curiosity piqued Murtagh. "Ryanle?"

Galbatorix ignored him. "It's strange what one remembers," he said softly. "How do you win? How do you deal with one who opposes you?" He laughed, eyes gazing blankly into the distance.

Murtagh kept silent, although his thoughts were touching Thorn's. _Thorn?_

_Shh. I'm listening,_ the red dragon whispered, eavesdropping through his thoughts.

_How long were you there? _he asked indignantly. _I've only just made contact._

_Since the day I was born. Quiet…_

"I killed Soraya on Shruikan's back," Galbatorix declared, standing, his cloak whirling grandly about his shoulders. "Ah, he fought my magic… but I won, as I always do, and the silver dragon fell. Vrael was weakened after that…but the fools still followed him, despite his loss of a dragon. And then—" he paused, dark eyes gleaming. "I killed _him_. And the Riders became undermined…and…"

He shook his head distractedly. "He was too noble, Vrael," Galbatorix said quietly, gripping Murtagh's shoulder. "That's what killed him. That's what killed Soraya. He was a fine swordsman, with the heartiest laugh, the greenest eyes, and the prettiest dragon. But with the softest heart."

_Vrael? _Thorn muttered. _Where have I heard that name before?_

_He was the leader of the last Riders,_ Murtagh said softly. _The Rider Galbatorix slew through treachery. I've told you before, haven't I? We've heard this story._

_Not firsthand,_ the dragon said. _I wonder if he feels remorse? _Through his Rider's eyes, Thorn examined the bent figure of the king. _Does he—_

Galbatorix jerked around suddenly, a strange calm in his face. "I will leave for a few days," he said as if he had been speaking of nothing else all the while. "I trust you to behave. Your bonds, essentially, still remain in effect. You have an adequate knowledge of the ancient language; do try to practice it."

He stood and made as to leave. Then, turning slightly, he said, "And try not to overthrow me while I'm gone, will you?"

_Do you think he knows?_ Thorn asked in a hushed voice as the king walked away. _Maybe he saw it in our minds?_

_I don't know,_ Murtagh said, walking back to his quarters. _Surely he would've confronted us if that were the case._

Thorn hesitated. _I don't think so…_he whispered, his voice hazy and uncertain.

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"Did you hear?" Whispers spread throughout the castle; gossip, rumors, tales about the night before. "…taken!" "No one knows…" "…but surely he didn't…"

Salem ducked around a corner, breathing hard. No one could be contacted through the crystal. Talinia had vanished, along with Aliya. In the city, Charis had sent news that her father had been found dead, a knife in his hand. Apparently he had resisted.

"Salem?"

She jumped, startled, looking up into Reynold's eyes. "Salem, are you all right?" he said softly. "You've been avoiding me…"

Salem stood, a terrible calm falling onto her. Slowly, she said, "Yes, I have. And I believe I have good reason to. You're the Earl Barrick's son, aren't you? What are you doing among the servants but as a spy?"

He tried to smile. "Barrick's a very common name, Salem."

She shook her head. "You look just like the Earl," she whispered faintly. "Same nose…same eyes…" Sucking in a slow breath, she added hesitantly, "Same loyalty?"

Reynold glanced at her sadly. "I'm afraid…" he stopped, then sighed. Lifting a hand, he commanded, "Eyddr eyreya onr! There…now we can speak." His hands grasped hers, pulling her along.

"Where are you taking me?" she snapped.

He stopped, turning slightly. "I've tried to protect you," he said quietly, earnestly. "That's why you were protected from last night's rout. They've found the Sílica, Salem," he said. "They don't know about you…the only contacts who do have chosen death over revealing their secrets. But they already know."

"And you'll take me to die?" she hissed, fury clear in her face.

He sighed. "I don't know," he admitted. "I can't hide you, Salem," he said gently. "My—I—I don't have any secrets. No. That's not right—I _can't_ have any secrets. That includes you. My father's not a bad man. Beg for your life. I can't hide you, but I don't want you to die either." His thumb brushed along her cheek. "I love you."

A harsh pain welled up in her chest as she stared at him. Her friend. Her lover. Her killer. Finally, she whispered painfully, "I love you, too."

He nodded and turned. As he did so, he switched his grip on her hand—

Salem twisted his arm brutally and pinched, forcing him to release his grip. He did so with a yell. Recovering quickly, he lunged for her. She jumped out of the way, and his own momentum sent him sprawling onto the ground. His legs snapped out, tripping her and sending them into a tumble onto the floor.

Quickly, he rolled on top of her, his fingers crushing her wrist. She spat into his face, making him wince. Using her free hand, she punched him brutally. There was an audible crack, and he jumped back, nursing a bleeding nose. Salem hesitated, then ran.

She slammed into _something_, bouncing back, stunned. Reynold was onto her, his hands fighting to find purchase. With agility she honestly did not know she had, Salem got her feet under her, grabbed his arm, pulled, and _kicked._

The hard leather caught Reynold just under the chin. There was another crack, much louder than before, and he slammed into the wall. Dropping to the ground, his head lolled backwards at an awkward angle, eyes blank.

"Oh," Salem whispered. With trembling fingers, she peeled his hair back. "Oh."

A rustle made her look up. Standing above her was the Red Rider, Murtagh.

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Read and review!


	12. Chapter 12

Wow. Lots of reviews this time. Thanks everybody I can die happy now :)

randomcat23: Thank you! This is one of the few cliffhangers I've actually kept. The others have all died in first drafts. There should be another one in here somewhere ;)

Mistress-of-Misery: Heh heh, you'll be surprised at what was in it. This, in my opinion, is another joiner chapter. Go figure.

Erulastiel: Thank you!

RichardCranium: Yeah…I looked for that too and when nobody ever wrote one I gave up waiting and just wrote my own.

Bruisor-Princess Powerful: Erm, no, the person in the crystal was not Murtagh. Sorry. It's Aliya…who incidentally vanishes. Oh well. Thank you for your positive comments though!

SilverwhitePoison: Wow. You actually bothered to figure it out? Well think of it this way. When Saphira's about a month old she's as big as a horse, right? Well, assume she doubles her size maybe every year after that. So Shruikan's been around for…what, 100 years? So that's 100 periods of doubling (I'm a math genius!), and that makes him…very big. I don't know. He's big, anyhow. It _is_ quite a chore to figure out how Galbatorix gets Shruikan out of the dungeon though :)

Anyhow, I shall shut up now.

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Salem froze, her cheeks white. There was an uncomfortable long pause, then finally he said, "Were you planning to do that?"

She shook her head numbly, then whispered, "I didn't want to die…but I didn't want him to, either."

"Huh." He bent down and lifted up Reynold's head, scanning the floor. "You shouldn't have pulled his arm toward you when you kicked, but you're a natural fighter, if that was any indication. This was a very neat job. No blood." His voice, cool and dispassionate, opened a gate within her. Salem gasped, struggling to hold back tears. She failed miserably.

He sighed, rubbing his knuckles together absentmindedly. His face took on a vaguely displaced expression. Salem took advantage of the pause to gather herself together. "Breathe," she whispered to herself. "Get control, Salem!"

The tears stopped. Salem flicked away the last of them hurriedly, watching the Rider out of a corner of her eye all the while. His eyes focused suddenly, and he spoke, making her jump ever so slightly. "What do you plan to do now?"

Salem hesitated, looking down at Reynold's tousled face. Finally, she said hesitantly, "I don't know. I can't…I can't stay."

His eyes fixed on hers. "No doubt about that. Do you have any family? Connections?"

This struck Salem as irony, pure and simple. She began to laugh hysterically, tears running helplessly down her face. "Connections? Well, I had connections. But I think I just destroyed the last of them because _he_ had connections and I just killed him because he was going to destroy my connections. So really he got rid of my connections. No, actually, come to think of it, I destroyed my own connections. But my connections were dead anyway. Isn't that funny? Can you imagine—"

He sealed her mouth with a firm hand. In a measured voice, he said, "Get a grip on yourself. You fought him, you killed him. What's done is done. All the crying or hysteria in the world won't bring him back now." He turned her to face him. "Tell me—Salem, is that your name? Salem. Who do you know that you can go to?"

His calm voice gave her something to hold on to through her shock. Slowly, fighting to make sense of the question, she said hesitantly, "A—friend? I've got no kin left…but maybe Charis? I don't know. It's been a long time."

He shrugged. "It's a start," he said finally. His eyes fell on the body, and with a frown, he added, "We can hide it in my room, I think. Thorn will take it out for me."

Salem swallowed heavily, then nodded. "Is he…will he…?" She couldn't manage to say it.

He understood her anyway. "Will Thorn eat him? No." With a grunt, he hoisted the body onto his shoulder. "I can't guarantee he'll receive a good burial, though."

Salem followed him uncertainly into his room. She had been here only one before, and involuntarily her eyes darted to the patch of carpet where the Rider had bled. "You cleaned it up," she blurted, then flushed. "Sorry," she mumbled belatedly.

He ignored her completely.

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_Thorn?_ Murtagh called. _I need your help…_

_Ah. _In the clear blue sky, a red dot appeared, enlarging rapidly as Thorn landed delicately on the balcony railing, wings spread.

The girl seemed considerably startled to see him. Her eyes widened with shock, and she took a step back, her hand going up her mouth. Thorn's eyes traveled from his Rider to the girl to the body lying on the ground. _She killed him,_ Thorn said, assessing the situation. _And now we need to hide the body. And get a place for her to stay. Am I right?_

_Your powers of intuition never cease to amaze me,_ Murtagh said with a small smile. _You are absolutely right. Although I'm hoping she's got the 'place' part down._

_Does he know about her?_ Thorn asked softly. _You did hear what he said earlier…Sílica has been found. Peregrine's been found. Is it safe?_

Murtagh relayed the question to Salem. With a sigh, she said, "Reynold was the last one to know…I think."

_That's not very reassuring, _Thorn observed dryly. _'I think' doesn't mean much._

As if reading the dragon's mind, Salem made a small smile. "I know," she sighed. "Anybody, really, could find it in my mind. Who knows who did? Maybe the Earl himself…oh, I don't know." She glanced outside, where the noontime rays of the sun spread over the forest. "I don't think…"

"Think what?" Murtagh asked quietly after a pause.

She didn't seem to hear. Salem continued to gaze out onto the woods.

Thorn cocked his head and gave her an appraising glance. _I see,_ he said shortly. His red eyes fixed intently onto her. Murtagh caught a thin wisp of a thought before Thorn tucked it behind stone barriers, his tail flicking lazily in acknowledgement of the deed. Slowly, Murtagh said, _You do know what you're doing, right?_

The red dragon laughed. _Do I know? I have a suspicion, and I'm not going to chat it over with you just yet._ He closed his eyes briefly, reopening them to say, _If she's got nowhere to go, she can hide in the woods. No one ever goes there._

Murtagh nodded, but a terrible feeling was crawling up his spine. He spoke briefly to Salem, outlining Thorn's offer. Salem turned slightly, then shook her head. "I'd like to see Charis," she said, twisting her dress nervously. "I haven't seen her in so long."

Murtagh, after a quick glance at Thorn, nodded. "All right."

Salem took a deep breath, looking anxiously at the giant dragon. At five months of age, Thorn was enormous, at least twice as large as a horse and certainly able to carry a stallion. Thorn grinned at her expression. _Don't worry,_ he said, speaking directly to her. _I don't bite._ He yawned, showing very sharp, very white teeth.

Salem did not look reassured. Murtagh smiled slightly as he handed her a saddle. "He really doesn't," he said mildly. "Unless you annoy him."

Swallowing, she replied, "And what annoys him?"

_Talking like I'm not right here,_ Thorn said wickedly. _Procastinating. Slowing._

Salem muttered something that sounded like a curse under her breath and then clambered unsteadily onto Thorn's back. Murtagh gave her a few minutes to get settled, then dumped the body brusquely in front of her. She flinched at the sight.

Thorn dug his claws into the sill and let fly. Murtagh frowned as another flash of Thorn's mind seeped into his mind. He jumped up, absolutely horrified.

_WHAT!_ Digging frantically into his vocabulary of the ancient language, he barked, "Blothr!"

There was a pause—then—he fell to his knees, gasping and coughing. The energy required to halt a dragon four times larger than he was—it was absolutely enormous. Thorn's mind broke into his, outraged. _What do you think you're DOING?_

The red dragon relanded on the windowsill, Salem fighting to keep the body on Thorn's back. Sucking in a deep breath, Murtagh coughed, "Stopping you."

_Well, you're doing a brilliant job of it, _Thorn said, surveying him with disgust. _If I hadn't stopped, I figure you would drop dead right about now. This is far beyond your limits. Don't do it again. Ever._

Murtagh rested his forehead against the cool marble wall, breathing deeply. "Thorn," he said, not bothering to talk mind-to-mind, "Who is that girl in the woods? Who are you hiding?"

The red dragon flinched. _Shh! How—how did you find that? Do you want everybody to hear? There's a fair wind out here!_

Murtagh gritted his teeth. _Who?_ he snapped.

Thorn's tail tapped the wall agitatedly. _It's a fugitive,_ he said finally. _A fugitive who managed to survive. _He shook his head firmly. _And it's absolutely none of your business,_ he added.

_Yes, it is!_ Murtagh shouted. _Thorn, what are you doing?_

The girl leaned forward, careful not to grab Thorn's sharp scales. "What are you talking about?" she said sharply. "Who's hiding who?"

Thorn grimaced. _Fine! Fine! I can't do anything these days, can I? Always _somebody _had to be on my case. This is so annoying. _He rippled his shoulders, making Salem wince. _Climb on,_ he said gruffly. _I'll show you._

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"My lady!" Reya cried as a shadow fell over the woods.

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Go to chapter 13! Oh, wait, there is no chapter 13. Give me a second to type it up…

Who is this Reya? You'll find out. At least I think you will. It depends on how my muse chooses to dictate the story. And in case I didn't make it clear enough—Thorn knows more than he's letting on.

Read and Review! I don't own any of this stuff (except what I do) so don't sue.


	13. Chapter 13

Reviews! Ha HAH!

Mistress-of-Misery: I like this cliffhanger best :)

Mrs Pierre Bouvier: Yes, I want to see that picture…

Bruisor-Princess Powerful: Random is coolness. Thanks!

Saucy Dog: Where have you been? Thanks for the reviews! Reya's right here…

randomcat23: Oh, the dragon does spill the beans. Just not when the camera's on him…

Grey Faerie32: Hey, Murtagh is not evil. He's conflicted, the poor guy.

Shealtiel: Thanks!

TIME UPDATE: 4-5 MONTHS INTO _ELDEST_ NOW. I'm assuming Eragon spent about 9 months before the Burning Plains, maybe 10.

And here's the story!

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_4/2/101_

Martaila sa DeVann jerked awake at her maid's cry. Shaking her head crossly, she called imperiously, "Reya!"

The maid rushed in, her face a portrait of despair. "Shadows!" she cried. "My lady, my lady, we must leave, we must leave—"

"I'm telling you this for the last time, Reya, we are not leaving!" Martaila snapped. "I won't abandon Neal."

Reya narrowed her eyes. "Begging your pardon, Lady, but the wretch's brought you nothing but trouble since the day he—."

"Enough!" Martaila declared, sitting up. "I won't hear you slander my family, Reya. The subject is closed, and we are not leaving. Do you understand?"

The maid bit her lip and nodded. Martaila surveyed her with a sigh. It was really too much to ask of the girl, she thought wearily. Reya was a lady's maid, not meant to be tromping around in the woods. Only years of service and loyalty kept Reya still bound to the DeVann household. "It'll be over soon," she said in a gentler tone.

Reya nodded and hurried out of the cave. Martaila rubbed her eyes with a groan, shaking out her skirts. At forty-five, sleeping on a hard rock was not doing anything for her back pain. Emerging out of the cave into the sunlight, she addressed Reya, "And where is this layabout nephew of mine?"

"Right here, Marta," a voice said from above her. "Good morning!"

Martaila spun around, daggers shooting from her eyes. "Do you think it's humorous to sneak up on people like that?" she snapped.

A young man grinned back at her from the cave roof. "Yes, Marta," he said. He never called her "Auntie" or even "Aunt". From the side, Reya made a discreet sound of disapproval. The man ignored her as he continued in a more serious tone, "Marta—what's going on? What was going on last night? Why did we have to leave in the dark of night?"

Martaila grimaced. "Neal—" she hesitated, then sighed. "Can you trust me for just a little while longer? No questions, Neal."

Intelligent, hazel eyes assessed her. Finally, he nodded. "I will," he said quietly. "But you're hiding something, Marta…and sooner or later you're going to have to tell."

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_So,_ Thorn said, flapping leisurely, _That's who's in the woods._

Murtagh sat behind Salem, stunned. _She told you all of this? Voluntarily?_

Thorn shrugged. _I don't doubt at least half of it was lies. That old lady was quite a hard nut, I'll wager. She's seen quite a bit._ He was quiet for a while, then added, _But I don't doubt that boy is her brother's son. They even look a bit alike, from what I've touched in your memories._

Murtagh shook his head furiously. _Thorn, this is dangerous, especially folk in our position. Do you understand? You can't involve yourself in this!_

Thorn bucked suddenly, angrily. _Don't you tell me about what I can or can't do! Don't you understand, Murtagh? Brom's son! What was I supposed to do, kick him and his aunt out of the woods?_

Salem, who had been silent up towards now, asked, "Who's Brom?"

Thorn stopped abruptly in mid-flight, causing a heart-wrenching lurch before he remembered to hover. _You were listening!_ he demanded sharply. _How is that possible?_

She looked confused. "What's impossible? I just heard that last bit, about Brom's son…who's hiding in the woods?"

_We were speaking privately, right?_ Thorn said worriedly to Murtagh. _I swear I didn't say anything to her._

_As far as I know…_Murtagh said guardedly. _Maybe strong emotion? Sending your thoughts too loud?_

_I was not,_ Thorn said snippily. _Hello? Can you hear me?_

She didn't react. Thorn shook his head as he resumed flying. _Well, that's a relief,_ he said. _Strong thoughts…tsk, tsk. So sensitive._

Murtagh snorted mentally. _You _were _getting a little aggressive, Thorn._ He sighed, growing serious once more. _What will we do?_

_I don't know,_ Thorn muttered angrily. _I won't let them die. No matter what. _

_I understand,_ his Rider said soberly.

Salem broke the meditative silence. "Where are we going?" she asked carefully. "Are we going to Uru'baen?"

Thorn shook himself from his trance. _I guess,_ he said loudly, touching Salem's consciousness.

_We are?_ Murtagh commented.

_Yes._ Thorn angled his wings, steering to the west. _We are going to see your friend, Salem. _Quietly, to Murtagh, he added, _And maybe dump her onto her friend. We don't need her._

The rest of the ride passed in uncomfortable silence.

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Salem's mind whirled with a dozen imagined scenarios. She and Charis hadn't really talked for about…oh, the past five months she'd been in the service of the castle. Oh, there were letters that grew more and more sporadic as time went by. But never a good, solid talk. Would Charis accept her? Reject her? And if she did, how would she do it? Would they still be friends? But where would she go? What would happen?

_We're there,_ the dragon named Thorn announced. _I'll land on the outskirts. Murtagh, see her off.._

Murtagh. It was such a harsh, crude name—a killer's name, the name of one who shed blood. Salem took a sideways look at Murtagh, frowning slightly. Her life lay within this man's hands. _But can I trust him?_ Salem thought uncomfortably. _And more importantly—can I stop him if I can't?_

The second question was much easier to answer than the first—No. The idea of her stopping _him_ was a joke. Involuntarily, she smiled at the image of her blocking his muscular bulk. No, in order for her secret to safe, she had to be able to trust him. _He did swear,_ Salem thought uneasily. But still, they were just words—nothing special.

_This is as far as I go,_ Thorn said. _Your turn, o Red Rider._

_Don't call me that,_ the man growled as he slid off the dragon. _That nickname is just stupid._

_It's more than a nickname,_ Salem thought silently to herself. _It's a title—a badge. It's who you are._

His callused fingers encircled her arm in an iron grip as he towed her forward. A huge wall surrounded Uru'baen, and the only legal way in or out of the city was through the four iron gates. Soldiers bristled around the mass of civilians waiting to enter, and from the ones on the far left trickled a thin line of people exiting. Salem swallowed nervously, her hand creeping up to her necklace for reassurance. She shook her head restlessly. The heat was giving her a headache.

_I'm standing outside Uru'baen,_ Salem whispered to herself. It was a solemn realization—this was the city she had grown up in her entire life, and had never expected to leave.

It was a long, boring afternoon as soldiers assessed each person before letting them go through. Some people had important-looking papers and got through easily; others, like Salem and Murtagh, sat around for hours. As they crept near the entrance, Salem grew more and more anxious. Murtagh didn't seem to notice.

"Next!" the guard roared. He looked just as bored as Murtagh, tapping his fingers on the desk. "Right. Names?"

The Rider glared at him for a long time before snapping, "Tornac. Tornac Brunson."

The soldier yawned. "Uh-huh." He made a notation in a book, then scratched his nose. "And the girl there?"

"Um—" Salem began. Murtagh cut her off, his grip tightening. "She's Tria—" he began.

"_Liar." _From the shadows stepped a man, bald and painfully familiar—a Twin.

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_Stupid!_ Murtagh cursed, tensing immediately. How could he forget? Uru'baen's gates were always screened by magicians—should he bluff his way out of this, or run? He could defend himself, but not against this many soldiers and certainly not with Salem in his way…

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_End of Chapter 13_

Martaila sa DeVann isn't really Brom's sister, nor is Neal really her nephew. She's actually the daughter of Brom's sister, or his niece. Brom is a Rider, remember—he's much older than he actually looks. Neal is indeed Brom's son, brought to Martaila as a child, but not a nephew. He's related through Marta as her uncle's son, so in a way I'd guess they're cousins. They've escaped detection all these years because Galbatorix very simply doesn't know Brom's heritage. Brom was taken as a child for Rider apprenticeship, and Galbatorix has been unable to trace the bloodlines. However, if he could get his grubby claws on the DeVanns…

Important people here!


	14. Chapter 14

Wow…lots of reviews this time. You can't imagine how unbelievably happy this makes me :)

**Fearie: **Yeah, I found the picture. He is not cute! Jeez…I hope he restyles his hair or something. I'd think he'd make an okay Murtagh, but the base looks—ew!

**Shealtiel**: I like your suggestion. I'll try it out, see how it works.

**Randomcat23:** Wow, thanks! Yep, Murtagh's in a bit of trouble now. I had trouble of my own figuring how he was going to get out of it…

**Mistress-of-Misery:** There's not really a cliffhanger in this one, but it does change some things somewhat. Read on and see! Yes, family heritage is very important. I plan to hit people with a couple more things by the time this story is done.

**Arya Drottning**: Why, thank you!

**Mrs. Pierre Bouvier**: Thanks. Did you like my lovely cliffhanger?

**AIDS:** All right. The city of Uru'baen is surrounded by walls on all sides except one, and that's the palace. Around it (palace, city, etc) are woods. Murtagh, Thorn, and Salem exit by the back of the castle. The only way back in is through the back of the castle once more or if you want to fly over the walls. The original idea is not to attract attention, so Thorn can't just fly over the walls, and they don't let people out of the castle through the front gates. So the only way Salem can enter the city is through the front gates of the city.

It's confusing, I know, but that's the general idea. :)

**Queen Caspian**: Those evil Twins! Boo, hiss!

**Fire Tempest**: Wow, thanks. I hate the Twins too and I'm glad they get bashed in the head. One of them does get a lovely makeover via poison ivy in this chapter, though :) All that magic makes them extra allergic.

**Spirited angel1305: **Thanks! READ ON! HAHAHA!

**Emerald Tiara:** Check email for response.

AHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA yeah okay here' s the story.

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_4/2/101_

It was the bored guard that broke the stunned silence. "Oh, what do you know," he said irritably. "Go back to your crystal balls."

The Twin's eyes narrowed dangerously. His lips twisting in rage, he barked, "Wrifthr!"

The effect was instantaneous and shocking. The guard tumbled back, his limbs jerking sporadically as he fought against the invisible grip on his neck. The crowd drew back, watching in terrified horror as he stopped shaking and fell limp. Murtagh raised an eyebrow. Next to him, Salem gasped. Murmurs seeped through the crowd as the soldiers reached for their weapons.

_Thorn,_ Murtagh said quietly.

Thorn caught the tone of his voice. _I'll hover…if he hurts you, Murtagh…_

The Twin stepped closer, harshly rank breath emanating from his mouth. "You can't fight your way out of this," he hissed. "You cannot run from the king." His eyes trailed from Murtagh to Salem, and an unpleasant sneer crossed his face. "And who is your lady love?"

"Traitor," Murtagh growled, a terrible rage welling in his chest. He forced a cold smile onto his face. "Weren't you bound for glory and riches? That's what you told me…and now you're stuck guarding a gate. How glorious."

The Twin met his gaze levelly. "Not for long," he hissed. "The king will be very pleased to hear this." He cocked his head slightly and touched an icy finger to Murtagh's head. "Well, well," he said softly. "Strong as ever, Murtagh? What about _her—"_

He turned around, calling, "Guard!"

Murtagh released his fury in a single, fierce word—"Fálir!" The force behind the command sent the Twin sprawling, the command softened by the Twin's hasty shield. The guards leapt forward, their indecision broken. Murtagh drew his sword, shoving Salem away from him. The crowd burst into screams as they cleared a makeshift circular arena on the packed dirt for them.

Twelve guards surrounded Murtagh, ten with swords, two with spears, and also what looked like archers in the guardtowers above. The Twin clambered to his feet, wiping spit away. "Don't kill him," he hissed softly. "Not yet."

Murtagh cocked his head, measuring the odds, then gritting his teeth as a mental probe spiked deep into his consciousness. The Twin could not break his barriers, but he certainly could distract him long enough to get slashed into ribbons. _Thorn! Stop this, but stay out of sight,_ he said, this time with a note of urgency.

_I'm on it,_ the dragon promised as the first men drew near.

The mental pain abated as Thorn attacked the Twin, and the soldiers struck. Four of them circled him, warily watching, waiting, darting in to attack and jumping just as swiftly out. They were aware of the Twin's command not to kill him, but that didn't mean they couldn't wound him, and by that, capture him.

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Salem watched the spectacle, stunned by his swordplay. _Well,_ she thought as strike after strike was deflected and returned. She glanced at the bald man, who seemed to be either having a migraine or insanely furious. His face contained an expression that could have been both.

_You! Girl!_

Salem jumped at the voice before realizing it was the dragon's, Thorn's. _What?_ she answered cautiously.

Thorn's voice was hurried and urgent. _Distract the Twin. I don't care what you do, but I need to get control of his mind. He's blocking—_there was a break in a conversation, then he continued. _He's barely holding, but that's still good enough. I can annoy him, but that's about it. _He cut off.

"Twin?" Salem spoke aloud before switching into mental speech. _Twin? What twin?_

_That Twin—_

_The bald man?_

_YES!_ Thorn roared in frustration. Salem winced, then watched with interest as the 'twin' curled his fingers into fists, mouth twisting into a sneer.

_Wow, he's conflicted,_ Salem commented to nobody before considering how best to tackle the challenge.

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Murtagh was tiring. None of the soldiers were as good as he was, but they were decent, and there were four of them, along with the occasional arrow shot in. He hadn't wanted to kill them—that would really ruin any chances of escaping—but now it seemed like there was no choice.

_Protect yourself and what you cherish,_ he thought grimly.

He crouched, looking for an opening, breathing hard. He heard the whirl of a blade behind him and spun to meet it, blades colliding for only a second before he withdrew to parry another on his right. He saw an opening as one soldier drew too near, and turned in a tight circle, sword extended. It worked. The soldier fell back with a cry, his sword falling from his useless right arm. Immediately, another leapt forward to take his place.

He felt a hot streak in his left shoulder and turned in that direction. The soldier wielded a blade stained with a thin stripe of blood. Murtagh gritted his teeth, slashing horizontally before raking it across the man's chest. Immediately, he twisted right to block a second blade—

A blazing pain erupted as a third sword, one he hadn't seen, bit deeply into the back of his leg. Murtagh hissed between his teeth as he dropped to the ground, rolling as he did so to return the blow. His heart sank as the remaining soldiers rushed forward to form a circle around him. Murtagh struggled to his feet, ignoring the blood pouring down from his wounded right leg.

A horrible shriek broke the expectant silence. _"KAIY—" _it began, before being forced down almost audibly. _Hold on!_ Thorn told him before turning away, a note of rage in his voice.

The Twin staggered forward, shoving the soldiers aside. His face was mottled and red, swelling beginning to appear. Murtagh eyed him skeptically as a queer voice that rose and fell with staggering irregularity came from his mouth. The Twin half-roared and half-whispered, "Do NOT COME here _ever_ agAIN do you hEAr me? LEeave—" He grabbed Murtagh's shoulders, swayed, and dropped to the ground in a dead faint. Murtagh limped away from the Twin, mouth curled in disgust.

A man came running up from the guardhouse, two stripes on his uniform marking him as a captain. His eyes flicked from the felled Twin and back to Murtagh. "Should I suppose you are leaving?"

Murtagh hesitated, then nodded, sheathing his blade. Looking at the captain, he inclined his head ever so slightly. "I—" He swallowed, then continued. "I have no quarrel with you," he said finally. "Only with him. We will leave peacefully."

"We?" he inquired softly.

Murtagh took a moment to compose himself as a jagged bolt of pain forced itself through his thigh. "We," he confirmed tiredly. "The girl I came with—Tria."

The captain studied him for an agonizing minute, then gazed beyond him into the distance. "I see," he said quietly. He nodded once, slowly. "You may leave. Do not return."

"But sir—" one soldier objected. "We're letting him go?"

The captain held up a hand. "Yes." He turned to the soldier who had spoken. "You heard the Twin, and we have our orders." He nodded to the soldiers. They parted, allowing Murtagh to lurch away. Salem joined him, her shoulder supporting him as they walked away from the gates of Uru'baen.

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Salem helped Murtagh into the outskirts of the city. There were scattered trees lying around; Murtagh gratefully hobbled over and sat down underneath one, breathing hard. To their backs lay the city, and ahead of them, half-a-day's walk for a healthy person, were the woods.

_What,_ Thorn said in a venomous hiss as he landed in front of them with a heavy thump, _did you think you were doing?_

Murtagh scanned the area, searching for something that could be used as a bandage. "I—" he began when Salem interrupted him. Evidently, Thorn's rage was not directed at him.

"Well, it worked, didn't it?" she snapped defensively. "We got out of there."

_At what price?_ Thorn cried. _You told the captain how much? What's to prevent that great lump of lard from telling the whole world?_

Salem crossed her arms, glaring at the red dragon. "He wouldn't betray us," she said furiously. "Not for anything. Anyway, you were having so much fun controlling the Twin and so much _success—_" she spat out the last word like it was a curse "—and I thought maybe we would need an ally."

_An ally?_ Thorn shrieked. _AN ALLY? SO YOU GO PICK OFF SOME SOLDIER FROM THE STREET? I WAS WELL CONTROLLING THE TWIN—WE WOULD HAVE GOTTEN OFF FREE—_

"Oh, come on," she snapped back. "With your great big howls through that bald man—'doooooooo NOTTTT cummbacka hereeeeeeeeee…leeeeeeeeeeeeeeve—'" she broke off and glared at the dragon. "_I _couldn't hear anything coherent."

Thorn hissed with rage and lashed out. With a yelp, Salem dropped to the ground, bleeding from a gash in her arm. _You idiot,_ Thorn said, his voice soft and deadly. _What have you done?_

"Salem?" Murtagh asked quietly, ignoring the pain for a second. "What did you do?"

She climbed to her knees, her eyes weary and resigned. "I told—I told," she said finally.

_She told that captain git everything,_ Thorn said viciously. _Now we'll have to kill him._

"Not everything," Salem said softly. "And no, I didn't tell that 'captain git'." She sighed. "I told—I told my brother."

There was a horrible stunned silence. Then finally Murtagh said from his seat under the tree, "I thought you said you didn't have any kin."

She smiled painfully. "I didn't. Not any that I chose to recognize, anyhow." She sighed. "It's a long story, really. He joined the army and gave Mother an apoplexy, and Father just disinherited him." She ran her fingers through her hair. "I hadn't talked to him in years, like. I haven't, I mean. And I didn't…I just didn't choose to count him as kin then."

"What do you mean?" Murtagh pressed, leaning forward and wincing as it put pressure on his leg.

She eyed him. "You're going to need a bandage," she said tiredly. "I don't like the look of that wound." Leaning down, she stripped off a petticoat that was tucked underneath her skirt and headed towards him. A soft growl from Thorn stopped her, and she shrugged. "Suit yourself." Sweeping her arm back, she tossed it towards Murtagh.

As Murtagh bandaged his wound, Thorn questioned her. _What do you mean, you didn't choose to recognize him? _

Salem took her time. Finally, she said, "I don't choose to recognize him because I haven't talked to him since the day he stomped out of the house swearing that he wouldn't talk to…us…ever again. Father forbade me, and…I might have said things to my brother that I regretted later." She looked up. "Both of us did, really. But I haven't talked or seen him since."

_Why were your parents so furious? _Thorn asked skeptically. _Aren't you lot loyal to the king? _Thorn said skeptically.

Salem crouched down with a sigh. "Well, sort of. I don't know. I think it was more the 'army' part of it. Mother…I used to have another brother, you see, but he died when I was eight because of a stray arrow, and she's never forgiven the army since. My father—I always thought he was loyal, just didn't want his son to join the army." Her tone indicated mild doubt. "Well, I don't know anymore."

"You can't reenter Uru'baen," Murtagh said softly, tying it tight and wincing lightly. _It's not good,_ he said to Thorn. _Won't hold._

_Maybe you could heal it?_ Thorn asked worriedly.

_I can only seal the skin back together,_ Murtagh said tightly. _It won't do anything for the muscle underneath._

_It has to be better than leaking blood all over the place! _Thorn argued. _We have to get out of here soon—it's too open—and it's going to hurt. Can't you do something?_

"I don't know," Murtagh said aloud, seeing the wrap stained wet with blood. "It's a nasty wound…a bandage of some sort. Better than this."

Unheeded by both of them, Salem had wandered briefly around the clearing. Now, she returned, standing a good distance away. "Greensleep can help dull the pain," she said, holding a small, round plant in her hand. "I can't find any goldweed, so you're just going to have to bleed. But here." She tossed it towards him. "You're going to be woozy for awhile, but at least it won't hurt."

Murtagh regarded the green bulb in his hand with skepticism. "How do I know you're not trying to poison me?" he asked, voicing a worry that Thorn shared.

Salem laughed. "I'll take some myself," she said dryly. "If you're really that afraid, I can, though it won't help anything." She eyed him appraisingly. "If you've got magic, though, I think you should do what you can. You're going to bleed out."

_I have to say she's right, _Thorn said grudgingly. _We really should go, so hurry._

Murtagh sighed and held his right hand to his wound. "Waíse heill!" he said. His palm glowed briefly, and the skin knitted and flowed back together. "There," he said, feeling incredibly tired. "Well, I don't think I can stand, but at least it's not hurting." He eyed the plant and pocketed it. "I'll save it for later," he told Salem, who just shrugged.

"You can use it or not, it's not like I'm going to be offended," she said, looking amused. Growing serious, she said, "Well—what next? Where do we go?"

_See how she assumes it's 'we',_ Thorn mentioned tartly to Murtagh. _How touching._ Raising his mental voice, he said, _Yes, _we_ are. As in Murtagh and I. We're going to play in the woods, and you're not._

Salem's eyes narrowed. "What?"

_Yes, what?_ Murtagh asked, disturbed. He staggered to his feet, relying heavily on Thorn. _We're just to leave her?_

_Yes!_ Thorn snarled, though he didn't move. _She's caused enough trouble already._

_Thorn, what are you _doingMurtagh demanded. _We cannot just dump her off here! _There was a pause, then he added softly, _She saved my life, remember? That time with Galbatorix?_

_And we saved hers, _Thorn said coldly. _I dumped her so-called sweetheart in the woods. We're even._

There was a tense pause, one that not even Salem chose to break. Finally, Murtagh asked, _Thorn…what's wrong?_

_What's wrong is Miss Blackfire,_ Thorn said furiously. _She got you into this mess, she is interfering with things that aren't her business, and she told somebody she shouldn't have, and she needs to get out of our life! _He swung his head towards Salem, eyes fierce with ire. _You don't understand what you're meddling with, girl!_

"And _you_ do?" Salem retorted. "Fine, you want me out of 'your life'? Good! I never wanted to be part of it in the first place! I am not the one that started up a grudge with your 'Twin', and I am not the one who began whacking around with swords! _You_ lot were the first to initiate contact with me. I got involved in 'your life' when he—" she jabbed a finger at Murtagh— "got his leg slashed open. I got involved when he started stalking me and listening to a conversation that he should not have listened to in the first place. I could, and would, have taken care of Reynold—"

_Could you?_ Thorn roared. _Could you have dragged him into the woods? I don't think so! You saved Murtagh's life, we saved yours. There. Now get the hell out of here._

_Thorn!_ Murtagh shouted. _Thorn—what—_He grabbed the dragon's scales, heedless of the sharp edges that cut into his hands. _Thorn, what are you doing? Why do you hate her so much?_

_I don't,_ Thorn snarled coldly. _I just don't want to be around her for another minute!_

"Yeah, well, I'm not too happy about being near you," Salem said just as coldly. "But you know what? You've completely ruined my life. Before you, I could've just gone on, hidden Reynold, and not get _banished out of my own city!_" Her cheeks were tinged with pink circles of rage now, her fingers balled into her fists. "I knew the risks when I joined Peregrine, and after the raid I would've taken care of myself. I _could_. But then _you two_ had to come along and completely screw everything up. So don't talk to me about getting out of 'your life'. I know the dramatic thing to do would go stomp out of here, but I have no place to go. You want to know why? _You two kicked me out of it!_ I am part of 'your life', and I will be very happy to leave it as soon as possible—"

_Go back to your brother,_ Thorn said violently. _Since you both love your king so much!_

There was a pregnant pause, then eerily, Salem laughed, curtseying. "Thank you, o Red Rider, and Dragon." She straightened, smiling pleasantly. "I bid you goodbye, then."

She turned and began the trek back to the city. Her posture did not speak defiance—it was a carefree, easygoing step of someone who had found peace. Murtagh watched her go, disturbed.

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_End of Chapter Fourteen_

This was a _long_ chapter and went through about three drafts. Whew! I know I promised a second chapter but I'm just so tired out by this one…maybe next week. Forgive me!

Does Murtagh like Salem…mmm…

This draws some pretty close-cut parallels to Eragon's meeting of Murtagh in _Eragon_…we'll see.


	15. Chapter 15

**Randomcat23: **I like thick plots, although they can be a little confusing to get a hold of :)

**Oblivion Blade: **I personally like Salem…you really think so? I'll make her less idiot-y, then.

**Emerald Tiara: **S'okay. Keep on reviewing!

**Gewher: **I love Murtagh too, and I hope we see a LOT of him in the third book.

**Zero the fallen: **ARGH! Are you SURE? Seven months really will screw me up. How do you know? Are you positive about this?

**Mistress-of-Misery: **Yes! That was the idea I was trying to get. Thx!

**Mrs Pierre Bouvier:** That was a cliffhanger? Well, I guess so. Hmm.

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_4/2/101_

There was an uncomfortable pause as they watched Salem vanish into the distance. Finally, Thorn snapped, _Well? Say something!_

Murtagh kept silent, one hand on Thorn's side. He waited patiently for Thorn's restraint to break. It didn't take long.

_Fine,_ the dragon snarled. _If you won't say anything, I will. I know what you're thinking, anyhow. You think I'm being stupid, irrational, and acting my five months. You think that I'm an ungrateful brat, don't you?_ The words were bitter accusations, pent-up fury released in a single tirade. _You think that maybe Salem's right, and I should go _apologize, _because whatever she does is right. She was right to tell some random soldier something, who by the way is her brother. Hah! Yeah, right! What a coincidence; he's her brother and I'm a rabbit. No way her brother's guarding the gate the same time we try to go through. But you know what? I don't care what you think of me._ _I—_Thorn continued in this vein for a while, twitching furiously with frustration and anger but not moving from his spot. Murtagh listened thoughtfully, eyes gazing at the point where Salem had disappeared into a blur.

It took about twenty minutes before Thorn finally cooled. He simmered slightly, snorting occasionally with annoyance. Finally, Murtagh spoke. _Are you done?_

Thorn growled sullenly, digging his claws into the dirt. _I guess,_ he said, sounding grumpy.

_Good._ Murtagh sighed and slid down to sit heavily on the floor. While his leg wasn't bleeding or hurting anymore, it was still weak enough that he didn't want to stand on it for too long. _I'm not blaming you, Thorn._

_Yeah, right._ The dragon's tone was cynical.

_Why would I lie?_ Murtagh cocked his head, gazing up at Thorn. _Thorn, we're practically joined at the waist, and that's a good thing. I've never had anyone as close to me as you are, and no matter what, I will be grateful that you hatched for me. _He swallowed, then continued, feeling hot and uncomfortable. _No matter what._

Thorn sighed. _Well, I am sorry, _he said gruffly. _I just don't like Salem, that's all._

_All right,_ Murtagh said quietly. _You can have your feelings._

_Eh,_ Thorn grunted. _That's a relief._ He lay down, head resting glumly on the dirt floor. _I'm glad I hatched for you too,_ he said as an afterthought. _Really. Not sarcastic. Even though we're trapped with Galbatorix and company…_ Red eyes flicked to Murtagh, and a giant leathery wing draped around him. _I'm glad you're here,_ he said in a rush.

Murtagh smiled and wearily rest his head against Thorn's side. They sat that way for a while, watching the setting sun drop into darkness. Then, suddenly, Thorn jumped up. _Oh, my!_ he yelped. _Martaila!_

_Martaila?_ It took Murtagh a few minutes to remember the name. _Martaila…the woman in the woods?_

_No, she's Shruikan's mate,_ Thorn said mockingly before snapping, _no dip, genius! Martaila and Neal and that wussy maid—ah, we were supposed to go there! That was the whole point!_

_We can still go,_ Murtagh said reasonably. _Just because it's dark doesn't mean we're lost forever._

_Yeah, I guess,_ Thorn said, though he still sounded worried. _Let's go let's go let's go—_Thorn wriggled impatiently as Murtagh clambered painstakingly on, careful of his bad leg. _Come on hurry up let's GO!_

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Martaila sa DeVann was forty-five years old and had lived every single year of her life according to her motto—_work with it_. It had served her well over the numerous years as the things she had to work with grew fewer and fewer. An alcoholic father and a wastefully splendid mother had reduced the DeVann fortune and estates to a pitiful house with a single maid. Heavy taxes did not help, either. But Martaila did not spend time mourning—she was the sole remainder of the DeVann line, and if anyone were to clean the mess up, it would be her.

Or so she thought.

It was a terrible rainy day when a ragged old man appeared on her doorstep carrying a child. Martaila answered the door, and when he begged for shelter, acquiesced. He had stepped into her doorway carrying the babe, then inquired quite calmly if his sister was still alive.

She, of course, had had absolutely no idea who he was talking about. It wasn't until much later after a hasty dinner and four cups of tea that she fully understood. The old man was Brom se DeVann, sister to Shalia sa DeVann, and he was her uncle. Martaila, a sensible woman, had demanded proof.

They brought out the _Varden Kvaehí DeVann,_ or the family chronicles that dated each DeVann and the fortune that had been cast for them at birth. Brom had shown her his. It was cryptic, as all the fortunes were, a strange mix of the ancient language and runes, but confirmed his story at least a little:

_Brom se_

_Ageless oér_

_1 Five ue three_

_Finiarel, new birth regrowth_

_D R A Y AWyrd foriel_

_Cloudmate sheer wrown, shine ilian slytha_

_Praise fall risa_

Martaila wasn't fully convinced, but if the _Varden Kvaehí DeVann _stated his name, he was at least a DeVann. He told her many things that night, some of which she wished he had not. Yet, Martaila also got the feeling he was holding back much more than he told. She held her peace and listened, waiting for the catch. After all, missing uncles didn't pop up on your doorstep to say hello.

It had come soon enough. She still remembered that night, even though it was fourteen and some years ago. He had looked up at her, face calm and solemn. "I need you to raise him," he said quietly, brushing the child's dark locks. "I need you to take care of him."

She'd agreed. Reluctantly, but she agreed. Brom had departed early the next morning after swearing the maid to secrecy. She never saw him again, and it was only the day after his departure when she realized she didn't know who the mother was. Nor did she have a name for the child. After some hesitation and frantic flipping through the _Varden Kvaehí DeVann_, she named him Neal after an abbreviated version of her several-times-great-grandfather, Nealvin al Coranc se DeVann (this was in the days when the DeVann house was at its full glory and long names were fashionable). Then, she carefully clipped out the page containing Brom's name and burned it.

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A shriek from outside jolted Martaila from her reminiscing. Neal popped his head into the cave, his face ghostly in the dying light. "Dragon and man," he said cheerfully. "Reya's having a fit, I can't convince her it's just Thorn." With that, he popped back out.

With a scowl, Martaila clambered out of the cave, swiping a torch on her way out and holding it up to show a red dragon landing. On its back she could vaguely make out the figure of a man.

Thorn landed delicately on the ground, a breeze wafting gently as he did so. "Reya," Martaila said tiredly as the maid dropped to the ground, still keening. "It's all right."

_I don't bite,_ the dragon added in a burst of rhyme. _At least, not humans, anyhow._ He bent his head to sniff Reya and snorted. The maid looked up at him, uttered a small whimper, and fled into the cave.

"Well? What do you want?" Martaila snapped bad-temperedly after watching Reya vanish into the shadows. "Who is _he_?" she demanded, jabbing a finger at the figure.

The man slid down Thorn's back with a bit of trouble, stumbling and wavering as he touched the ground. _'He'_ _would be my Rider, Murtagh. That's Martaila sa DeVann. The maid was Rahrah or something like that. And that's Neal. There, introductions. _

"It's Reya," Martaila reminded him for the umpteenth time. "And I'd thank you to call her that. Reya, not Rahrah or Renni or anything else." She eyed the Rider skeptically. "Well."

The Rider drew nearer, his face coming into view. He was perhaps twenty five or so, his eyes the sharp, wary ones of a warrior. There was a sword at his side, rough hand-and-a-half and finely made. Also finely used, she observed. He was limping, and his breeches showed a slit that was stained with blood. Yet there was no wound. Martaila frowned slightly, cocking her head.

_I think she's displeased with your appearance,_ Thorn said dryly. _What's up, Marta?_

"Martaila," she said distractedly, still frowning. She looked at Murtagh. "You're not loyal to the king." It wasn't a question.

He raised an eyebrow. "Maybe," he said. "Obviously, neither are you."

She gave him a cursory nod, bringing the torch up higher. "Thorn had told me that you can be trusted," she said, hazel eyes cool and direct. "Of course, I don't know if I trust Thorn either, but I have no choice." Martaila sighed. "Neal?"

The boy appeared at her side, gazing curiously at Murtagh. "Yes?"

"Where's Reya?"

He grinned slightly. "In the cave. She's crossing herself frantically and muttering prayers to Orcane (A/N: Orcane's a god, by the way, a god that Reya worships). It's kind of funny, actually, but I don't think bringing him in would be the best idea. Reya'd go _nuts_."

Martaila sighed tiredly. "Then we shall have to do it here," she said finally. Martaila handed the torch to Neal, who took it with a puzzled expression. "There are things that must be explained, things that cannot be hidden for much longer. Neal, I owe you an explanation. You—" Martaila hesitated, looking at the Rider. "I have no choice whether to trust you or not. We cannot hide out here forever, and already events have been set into motion that cannot be undone. There is something you must do for us…I will ask it of you later."

"I understand," the Rider said quietly.

Martaila nodded. "Atra nosu waíse vardo fra eld hórnya!" she declared powerfully, and began.

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_End of Chapter Fifteen_

I won't tell you what Martaila tells them that night. That's for later in the story, so keep hanging off the edge of your seats. Salem will come back, though, within the next two or three chapters if I can handle it.

Besides, Martaila does keep back quite a lot in the narration she gives to Thorn, Neal, and Murtagh—some things are for Neal alone. Not that you can tell :)

Short chapter…next one will be short, too. I've got it all typed up and ready—that's how I know. Next week, then:)


	16. Chapter 16

Reviews!

**DragonMaster1992**: PRESSURE! AH! PRESSURE! NOOOOOOO!

**Shadeslayer390:** Thanks. I may have repeated words once or twice and not have been very careful to keep consistency, though. Shh.

**Mistress-of-Misery**: Wait till you see the next chapter. That's when it starts to get thick, thick, and thicker until you've drowned in it. Well, not really, but I'm adding a new character…Connac.

**Grey Faerie32**: Quite all right, and thanks for reviewing!

**Gewher:** Yeah…I love him to. Please don't kill me for this chapter because Murtagh REALLY IS my favorite character. Where are the pictures of the Urgals?

**Emerald Tiara**: Really? Well, I hope it smooths out.

**Narnia Dreams-Beliver**: Wait wait wait! What was your original pen name! I'm so confused…

**Randomcat23**: Thorn is a totally unknown character in the books, so I got to develop him however I wanted. It is so much fun. I like Salem too…she comes back next chapter.

That's all folks! Here's the story.

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_4/2/101-4/3/101_

It was very late that night when they finally left the woods. Thorn was the first to break the silence. _We don't have to decide now,_ he said. _Wait till morning. I'm exhausted and so are you. You need to heal, too._

Murtagh noticed the unspoken challenge in Thorn's voice and took it up. _As far as we know,_ he said carefully, _there is only one left. There may be others, but we do not know who they are._

Thorn made a noncommittal noise. _Maybe,_ he said finally, _but as a last resort._ There was a disgruntled tone as he added, _I still hate her._

_We cannot hate our allies,_ Murtagh said somberly. _We can't afford to._

_In the morning,_ Thorn said, a sharp finality to his voice. _I'll think it over._

Murtagh let it be as Thorn descended gently in front of the back palace gates. _Good night, Thorn,_ he said softly as he dismounted clumsily, careful to guard his bad leg.

Thorn nuzzled him, then said quietly, _Get some rest. Get a healing. Meet up with you tomorrow._

Murtagh nodded. Thorn turned around, taking flight for the woods. Murtagh watched his shadowy figure disappear into the darkness, then lurched painstakingly into the palace.

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It was dark in the hallways that led to his room. Murtagh groped for a torch and found none. He cursed with annoyance and, with a little effort, found a lamp. "Brisingr," he muttered, bringing to life a hesitant flame.

Putting a hand on the doorknob, he swung it open. His room was dark, and a strange odor hung around it. Murtagh paused, his senses carefully searching the room for the source. Finding no danger, he set the lamp down and shut the door.

Light flared. His eyes, unused to the sudden brightness, protested instantly. Murtagh shut them and pressed himself against a wall, every sense sharpened with a terrible clarity. A hand with a grip like iron reached out and grabbed his tunic, pulling him close. "Hello, Murtagh," a coldly amused voice said. "Did you do something you shouldn't have while I was out?"

His eyes flew open, staring straight into Galbatorix. With a sneer, the king threw him onto the ground and sat down onto the bed, his eyes never leaving Murtagh. "So," he said conversationally, leaning forward, "Tell me. What did you do today while I was handling certain events?"

Murtagh struggled to his knees, sick fear coiling inside his stomach. He had been tortured brutally before and had no wish to repeat it under any circumstances. "I—" he swallowed, then faltered. "I—"

"Hmm? So few words?" The king raised a theatric eyebrow, steepling his fingers together thoughtfully. "Well, I'll tell you what I heard, shall I? I heard that you decided to charge my gates with a certain young lady; a lady that I currently cannot find. Who is she, Murtagh? A new sweetheart? Then, your dragon overran the minds of the Twins and took over their actions." He inclined his head, a small smile playing about his lips. "Is this true? I would hate to think the son of my most loyal follower could ever perform such…inelegant actions."

Murtagh couldn't say anything. He was desperately torn between two pathways, neither which boded well. He could not willingly betray Martaila or Neal or even Salem…he would hate himself, and the action would destroy any scrap of anything _good_ that still remained in him. But if he resisted…the thought made him violently afraid of the consequences. Galbatorix, seeing the conflict in his face, slid neatly off the bed and faced Murtagh in a parody of equality. "Indecision," Galbatorix cooed. "Ah, my dear friend…let me ease your path. Shall I?"

Savagely, a probe tore into Murtagh's mind. Murtagh gasped sharply with pain as it clawed viciously past his failing barriers, threatening to split his head open. He doubled over, fighting nausea, screaming as the pain grew worse, traveling in racking waves down his spine and burning, lines of fire streaking throughout his body. Vaguely, he knew Thorn was outside trying to help, but even the dragon's power was ineffectual against the sheer force behind the probe.

Time slowed to a crawl, then finally ceased altogether. All Murtagh knew was that the probe was digging deeply into the crevices of memory, dragging his recollections out one by one and torturously examining them before repeating the process all over again. Murtagh's eyes rolled up into his head, and he was shaking violently as pain struck him via the probe again and again. Galbatorix was purposely making it as painful as possible, the bastard, and it was working. _Stop this!_ he begged inaudibly, fighting to force down his screams. If this went on much longer, he would go mad. He _wanted_ to go mad, so that the agony would finally end.

It was an eternity before the probe finally released its unrelenting hold. It took its time getting out and wasn't gentle about it, either. Murtagh whimpered, a soft animal sound, and collapsed onto the floor. His body didn't bear a single scratch, but echoes of the mental torture remained.

A cool touch brushed his cheek, and he flinched. "Murtagh, Murtagh," Galbatorix's voice whispered, echoing as if from far away. "Why do you resist me? You bring this onto yourself…I have no wish to hurt you, but your disobedience forces me to." Galbatorix's face came into view, smiling sadly. "If only you would listen."

Murtagh swallowed convulsively and shut his eyes, curling into a fetal ball. A hand gripped his jaw and turned his face upwards. Galbatorix leaned forward, breath pounding onto Murtagh's face. "I trust this will not happen again?" he murmured quietly, allowing a shadow of the probe to brush Murtagh's mind. Murtagh shuddered and didn't reply. He couldn't.

"I see," Galbatorix said, releasing his hold. "It will not." His words were calm, final. "Needless to say…you will do as this Martaila wants, shall you not?" He smiled slightly. "In _Ricai Menia _by the scholar Juno Urukin, he writes that the best way to defeat an opponent is to yield." He forced Murtagh's eyes open with a lazy finger and leaned close. "While this cannot be applied to every case, I believe it works very nicely here, no? You will yield, my sprightly young Rider. This is your charge, Brikijae Knívarya…"

Word by word, Galbatorix spelled out exactly what he wanted Murtagh to do.

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_End of Chapter Sixteen_

Another short chapter. Whee!

I hope I got Murtagh's reactions okay. I hated to torture him, but I had to because 1) his life w/ Galby is no piece of cake. We've got that down pat. 2) it was the only way I could think of to set things into motion by informing the enemy. It spices up life when there's opposition.

Next chapter contains Salem and what she's been up to. See ya then!


	17. Chapter 17

Reviews! Hahahaha!

**Emerald Tiara**: Oh please what? Okay, I know it wasn't the best spot, but you have to admit it's a pretty nice cliffhanger.

**DragonMaster1992:** Thank you. I know it's slow, but believe me, there's a lot to say. I'm drawing it out…

**I Elenial I:** I know…I didn't like it either, but I have to do it. The name changing thing is interesting. Have you ever read _Stargirl?_ She changed her name a dozen times too. No reason, just thought I'd mention it.

**EragonWorshiper**: You do have a point, and this draft reflects it. I've tried to emphasize Salem's feelings here…let's just say she was in shock or whatever before, shall we? And the cliffhangers—there was me thinking I putting in too many…hmmmm

**Randomcat23**: Thanks! Salem has been getting into a heap of trouble…and I'm still not done with her adventures. This is basically an unfinished draft :)

**Shadeslayer390:** Sure! Next one definitely will have Murtagh. Next chapter rounds up this one, actually, and brings in Murtagh and Thorn.

**Tarwen Svit-Kona**: Thanks! I actually haven't figured out that part yet but it'll come to me…(I hope!)

**Nicky377**: Murtagh is not hot. Eragon…haven't seen him. Ooh, but I hope he is!

**Gewher**: I know! I hope Eragon disembowels him alive in the third book.

**Mistress-of-Misery**: Technicalities, technicalities :) But yeah, I guess so.

**Slc11:** Eragon won't show up till the Burning Plains, plus a scene where I plan for Murtagh to scry him (but fail, of course). This is a story of Murtagh and what he's been up to. But thank you!

**Grey Faerie32:** Six pages! This thing is six pages and I'm still not done. Whew!

**Fearie:** It's okay…I'm glad you reviewed anyway :)

**I Elenial I (again): **Not pressure! No!

**Just-A-Keyblade-Master**: Sure! I'll see what I can do.

Note to all readers:

This is kind of incomplete. I thought about chopping this into two parts, but I thought that I might as well give it all because this has already taken two weeks. Anyway, next chapter tells all. I didn't mean to cut it off in a cliffhanger, but that's as far as I finished it.

I still hope you like Salem after all this…I edited this particular draft A LOT. The first version had her meeting some beggar in an alley…but that was going nowhere :) So, here you are.

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_4/2/101-4/3/101_

_Go back to your brother,_ the dragon said furiously, glaring furiously at her. _Since you both love your king so much!_

Salem felt hot, angry tears beginning to prick the corners of her eyes. If only that stupid Rider had never chanced onto her. She could've taken care of Reynold after she—she—Salem swallowed deeply, fighting down her feelings. She wouldn't cry.

Forcing on her best meaningless smile, Salem shone it at them, relaxing her demeanor. "Thank you, o Red Rider and Dragon." She straightened, the pleasant smile still in place. "I bid you goodbye, then."

Salem turned around for the city, forcing herself to loosen. She didn't know what she was going to do or where she was going to go…but she wasn't going to stay around for one moment

Once out of sight and out of view, Salem slid down to a base of a tree, her thoughts tumbling over one another without rhyme or reason. Now what? Where could she go? What—who—when—thoughts formed, broke off abruptly, and constantly circled back to a single thought—_I have nowhere to go._

She _did _have somewhere this morning, Salem thought bitterly. Of course, she had Reynold and the palace that morning too…but the riot had happened so how longer would she have had that if she hadn't killed Reynold? But if Reynold was—

Salem swallowed deeply, fighting back tears. _Reynold!_ He wasn't a _past_ thing or some vague memory of a deed long past—no—he was dead—and _she_ had killed him. The full impact of her deed sank into her, opening a reservoir of overwhelming guilt and pain. Reynold Barrickson was dead. The bastard son of the Earl Barrick, a spy, a servant in the royal palace, a—

…_a friend_…Salem completed dully. _I…I loved him._

Salem inhaled, a deep shuddering sound as she let her tears flow. Memories flooded her mind; memories of Peregrine and Aliya and Charis and Father and _Reynold._ She remembered his touch, his wry humor, his searching ability to know her even better than she knew herself. She knew he had intended to betray her—but—_did he have a choice?_

_If he loved you enough, he would have died for you,_ a nasty little voice said in the back of her head.

_No!_ Salem hissed angrily at it. _It was my fault he died. I overreacted._

_Did you?_ it whispered coldly. _You had no choice—it was yours or his. Self-preservation, Salem!_

Abruptly, she stood. "I'm not going to argue with myself," she whispered, swiping tears away angrily. _I'm going to move on. Rey—he—I did what I had to. And now I'm moving on._

Salem closed her eyes, fighting to control herself. _You can cry later,_ she scolded herself mentally. _Worry about more practical things. Like where you're going to go, for instance._

She shoved the memories back into a corner of her mind, forcing herself to focus on the situation at hand. Names flew through her mind along with haphazard destinations. Salem discarded each one; most of the names and places were unavailable or meant death at return. _Uru'baen? They were after him, after all…I'm just the 'girl next to the man with sword'. Why would they stop me?_

Her common sense argued passionately against it. Salem ignored it.

With a resolute step, she started walking.

The closer she got the city, the more nervous she became. She had no idea when her brother, Connac, got off duty; she didn't want to see him again. Not yet. She reached the gates and waited, a half-formed decision in her mind. The mass of people was still there despite the fact that the day was almost over, and Salem found it easy to blend in. She crouched behind a man with two large oxen, watching and waiting uncertainly for a long time. Her eyes flicked continually over the guardtowers, searching for…searching for Connac. And the evil bald man.

He wasn't there. Neither of them.

_Well, can't loiter forever,_ she thought, making up her mind in a flash, a boldly helpless will urging her on. Straightening her back, Salem slipped her way to the front of a line, ignoring the colorful curses of the man behind her.

She spent a nerveracking couple of minutes in front of a bored soldier as he questioned her, picked his nose, wrote something down in an illegible scrawl, and waved her through. This time, nothing and nobody popped out of the shadows with a nasty sneer. When she walked away, though, she had the unsettling feeling that somebody was watching her go.

_I'm paranoid,_ she thought uneasily after turning around for the fifth time and seeing nothing there. _They were after the Rider, not me. Nobody knows Rey—he's dead. Nobody knows he's dead…or do they?_

Well, she _was_ inside Uru'baen.

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Connac Blackfire sat in the guardtowers, his head in his hands. _Salem,_ he thought, feeling lost. _What has she gotten herself into?_

His head spun. Salem had appeared in his doorway, flushed red and breathless, spinning fantastic tales and begging for his help. Connac had been more than a little skeptical of the story, but the swordplay outside was real enough. Rider or not, the man couldn't get out of this fiasco alone.

"I've scattered redrash all over his face," she said breathlessly, referring to the Twin. "Connac, I know we've fought, but—but he can't get out of this alone."

He'd agreed, feeling dazed. In the end, his intervention really hadn't been needed—or had it? At the very least, he did get to see the Twin fall face flat in the dirt. The bald man was absolutely vile and deserved it full-heartedly.

He sighed, then jerked up at a knock from the door. "Come in," he called.

In came an oily-looking man, carrying in his hand a scroll. Connac rose, his expression revealing none of his uncertainty. "Darl," he greeted the first man. "What does our gracious emperor decree?"

Darl, a messenger in royal employ, raised an eyebrow. "Quite a lot," he said dryly. The voice was melodious, somber, not matching the face at all. "Most of which I believe you've bent."

Connac shrugged, unrepentant. He was one of the youngest captains in the army and had a reputation for bending the laws when needed. This should've blocked any hope for advancement, but Connac had proved his unwavering loyalty to the Empire more than once and each circumstance had ended peacefully. As a result, people tended to trust his instincts and tolerate his "behavioral oddities", as Darl had once so quaintly put it. "You've got something to say?" he inquired. "Get to it, Darl."

Darl shook his head and held out the scroll. Connac unrolled it, skimming down the lines rapidly. They did not bode well for his rash sister. "I understand," he said finally, keeping his face composed. "I'll order the guard to keep an eye out."

"That won't be necessary," Darl said softly. He turned slightly and beckoned.

Two men stumbled into the room, their hands and feet bound together, a spear prodding them forward. Connac stood, shock in his face. "Sergeant Tyra, magicker Verholm," he said sharply. Turning to Darl, he snapped, "What's the meaning of this? Release these two men!"

Darl sneered. "They have been accused of treason," he said coldly. "Insubordination—"

"Sir, sir, we didn't," Tyra protested, his voice breathy and nervous. "Verholm just—Verholm—"

"I was using the necessary and maybe didn't catch everything. I know I'm supposed to log in and everything but—" Verholm flinched as Darl raised a hand. There was already a red mark across his face from a slap.

Connac jumped forward and grabbed Darl's hand. "They are under my command," he said in a dangerous voice, "and I'll punish them as I see fit. What happened?"

Darl stared at Connac for a long time before finally nodding and referring to a gate log in his hand. "They allowed the girl—the girl—Sayris Meto, they allowed Sayris Meto to pass the gates." He laughed. "Interesting false name. They allowed her into Uru'baen." His eyes glinted, watching Connac for his reaction. "She's the girl in the decree."

Connac gave him nothing. "It seems like only mere stupidity that let her through, not treason," he said blandly. He addressed the man carrying the spear. "Corporal Henrik: Sergeant Tyra is demoted to private, and Verholm gets three days in the stocks. Tyra gets two. A week of slashed rations and forty lashes apiece." It was a severe punishment, but bearable.

He nodded, dismissing them and turning back to Darl. "That was a matter of their idiocy, but it can be corrected. I'll take a squad of men out and search the city. She's penned into Uru'baen, can't go that far."

Darl's smirk abruptly dropped, and he nodded slowly. Folding up the paper, he bowed. "Luck to you, captain."

Connac returned the sentiment, although he fervently hoped he would have anything but luck.

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Salem wandered in Uru'baen, her steps taking a haphazard route to Charis's house. She was afraid and knew it, feeling like a stinking coward—_you killed somebody! Now you can't muster up your guts to visit your best friend!_

She shoved the voice away furiously and stomped the last couple hundred yards to Charis's house. "Charis!" she yelled, banging on the door. "Charis Felin, come out right now!"

There was silence from the house. With a frown, Salem stepped away, examining the building. The shutters were drawn and there wasn't a single candle lit. Odd. The sun had set, after all.

Cautiously, she slipped around to the back of the house. The left back shutter didn't lock properly; she knew that from her many visits over. With a grunt, she rapped it sharply with her hand. It opened with a crack.

Bunching up her skirts in one hand, Salem climbed painstakingly over the windowsill, landing heavily in the dark house. Once up and steady, she called, "Charis?"

Silence.

Salem breathed very deeply, forcing herself to stay calm. Charis would've told her if she moved, and the last letter was…this morning, in fact. So Charis must be all right. "Charis, this isn't funny. Come out!"

She moved deeper into the house, searching for the matches that she knew Mistress Felin always kept in the kitchen. Her eyes adjusting slowly, she was able to see by the silvery moonlight that the rooms were unusually messy. Too messy for a neat freak like Mistress Felin.

"Charis?" she called again in a quiet voice, hands groping for the matches. "Charis, are you here?"

"There's nobody left," a voice said from very, very near her. "They left this afternoon."

Salem jumped, tensing instantly. "Who are you?" she said, straining to find the source of the voice. It was a deep male voice, confident and calm. _Looter, probably. Come to take from the Felins, damn swine!_

There was a rustle to her left. Involunatarily, Salem's hand clenched around the first hard thing she found—a good wax candle. "Where are the Felins?"

A light creak of wood as the speaker moved closer. Finally, the voice said softly, almost right into her ear, "They ran away, my dear lass…but you won't." A hand touched her back lightly, sending chills up her spine. It snaked out, preparing to wrap around her waist.

With a yell, Salem spun, smacking whoever it was squarely on the head. There was a grunt as the person fell to the ground, clenching her skirts in his hand. Salem struck again with the candlestick—being wax, the thing cracked in half. With a curse, she dropped it and stepped down, _hard_, onto the person's hand.

He let go with a cry. Salem stomped again just for good measure and darted for the door. She found it easily even in the dark and mess and slammed it shut as the looter blindly ran into it. He found the doorknob soon enough and shook it furiously, trying to open the door. Salem looked hastily up and down the streets—it was brighter out there, with torches illuminating the paths.

Left, right, which one was the right path? On a whim, she chose the right path and set off running. Behind her, the door popped open, but nobody followed. The looter had apparently decided to return to his thievery instead of chasing after a troublesome girl.

Salem slowed to a walk after a while. It was quiet, the sleepy silence broken only by the occasional insect chirp. Salem appreciated the silence. Now, in addition to her former troubles, Salem had another puzzle to solve—_What happened to the Felins?_

"Nothing good, I bet," she murmured out loud. "Poor Charis."

She walked on that way for a while, following the path with idle interest as to where the end was. It ended in the marketplace, where it pooled with other paths to create a central bazaar. Salem sighed, walking through the empty square. In the morning, it would be crammed with at least fifty different shops. Now…now it was quiet.

She selected a nice, overhanging tree and curled up awkwardly underneath it. Weariness dragged at her bones. With a sigh, she went to closed her eyes. _Just a few minutes…well, maybe more…_

Salem's eyes flew open, a terrible dread settling onto her bones. Danger was coming. Very fast.

_Voices_. Male voices, whispering softly. She couldn't hear the words, but she knew with a unrelenting clarity what the voices were talking about—_her_.

A dog's eager bark sounded. Salem hissed softly—dogs meant scent-tracking, meant an inability to hide through sight. _Water_, she decided. _Somewhere with water—_

The closest water was the public fountain, and that wasn't exactly a smart idea. The closest running water was the Ramr, and that was definitely too far! She was going to die here because she couldn't figure out how to outsmart a dog, a four-legged little monster with a better sense of smell than it deserved—

_Sewers!_

EW! Salem recoiled from the thought. Sewers were filled with _waste_, with filth, with—with—well, who knew? It was absolutely insane and—and—

_Oh, it's my only chance,_ Salem thought miserably. You worked with what you had, and she happened to have sewers. _Or I know where they are, anyway. But…_

But nothing. With a miserable sigh, Salem crawled out of her hiding spot, careful to stay to the shadows. There was a grate a few feet away, she'd be down in no time.

"_ARFARFARAFARAFARAFARF!"_

"There! There she is! Go! GO! Get her! Cut her off—"

Salem tore at the grate with clumsy fingers, her brain burning with a single thought—_Get inside! NOWNOWNOW!_

She practically _dropped_ inside two seconds before the first dog reached the grate. It howled with frustration, then proceeded to bark canine insults at her. Salem didn't wait, hurtling down the passageways. _Left! Right! No, left! _Well, she didn't know where she was going anyway!

The smell was nauseating. Salem nearly cried with disgust as the water level rose further in, sending mud and—and—_liquid_ and _dung_ past her legs, soaking into her socks and skirts. At least she couldn't hear the men anymore; the only sound was the slow drip of—stuff—coming down from the slimy ceiling.

She was so intent on walking carefully through the muck that she didn't notice the figure in front of her. "Ah—" Salem yelped before a rough hand sealed her mouth shut.

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I did not write that cliffhanger on purpose. I swear! It's just where I happened to end…

Is the writing style getting a bit thick? I think so, but I'm my worst critic. Suggestions?

Read and Review!


	18. Chapter 18

**Please review!**

**Mistress-of-Misery**: Well, here they do. Uru'baen used to be an elf city, didn't it? I'd hope elves are big are hygiene…or don't they get dirty? Salem's not going to get sick, though—too much fun stuff to do like saving the world.

**Shadeslayer390:** AAHHH! Well, it was a mistake!

**I Eleniel I:** We had to read Stargirl for English fest, and nobody liked it there either. We all thought it was a lousy ending how she just skips off into the sunset…oh well!

**Gewher**: Well, if you're desperate, don't sewers sound a lot better than death by torture:)

**Luveroffanfic:** Thanks! Here's chapter eighteen…

**DragonMaster1992**: Thanks! I'm really on a roll; I've got half of chapter nineteen done which must be something of a record for me.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ (just to add some variety)

_4/3/101_

Salem drove her elbow back, hitting something hard and leathery. There was a hiss of annoyance from behind her as the grip on her mouth spun her around. "You idiot!" the man snapped.

"_Connac?"_ Salem gasped. "What? Why—" she wrenched free of his grip, preparing to flee at the least sign of danger.

"Get away, Salem," he said softly. "The sewers branch off into two main sections of the city; there will be ten men scouring each. Take a left about sixty paces straight down; that'll take you to the slums. The sewers get more decrepit there, it's easier to hide." He looked at her seriously, somberly. "The dogs don't work here. Go to the sideways if you can, it's quieter." He was referring to the thin strip of stone that lined either end of the sewer tunnels. "Go."

Salem hesitated, then nodded, hurrying down the culvert. Connac waited until she had vanished into the side alley, then went back to his men.

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There wasn't any time for thinking or doubting. There were men behind her—it _was_ easier to hide here, but there was still no time for such mental niceties.

Following Connac's advice, she jumped lightly onto the sideways. There were no more watery splashes, although her skirts did weigh her down somewhat. Salem took two minutes to strip off the heavy outer skirt, leaving only a light cotton shift.

That left her with the problem of the heavy skirt. It was good velvet, one of the best she owned. _I hate this,_ she thought rebelliously. _Who knew that running away would make you lose a good skirt worth nine silver crowns?_

It did give her an idea, though.

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Connac led the squad down the slum sewers, his mind racing. "Spread out," he ordered. "Separate in groups of two. Staffs only; we'd skewer each other with blades in this place. Try—"

A heavy splash down a side pipe interrupted him. All heads turned to gaze sharply in the sound's direction; it came from the other side of a narrow passageway. Connac's spirits dropped as he silently cursed his clumsy sister. "Drop the staffs," he said finally, trying to speak as loud as possible to warn Salem yet not attract suspicion. "Hadyn, Marl, and Rostak, you're the smallest. Go in slowly, knives only. Now." At his nod, the three men slipped in one at a time. Turning to a soldier behind him, Connac said, "Stevans—where can she go from there?"

Stevans looked up at the ceiling, thinking. "The sewers follow the layout of the city…if that's Bircher's Road, I'd say there are four ways leading from the exit." He looked inquiringly at Connac, who nodded for him to continue. "All right," Stevans murmured, then began directing men down various passageways to pen Salem in.

They nodded and obeyed. Connac watched with a sinking heart, then jumped slightly as Stevans tapped him on the shoulder. "Sir? Are you all right?"

"Yes…" Connac said. "Yes, I'm fine." He shook his head distractedly and sighed. "Lead on, Stevans."

Stevans paused, then headed down a pipeway down the left. Connac followed him, running his thumb over the blade of his dagger.

They drew closer…Connac could hear the soft whispers of his men blending in with the slow rush of the sewer water. "Ready, sir," a soldier said softly from behind him.

Salem was trapped. They had blocked all ways in and out from Bircher's Road.

_I'm sorry,_ Connac thought regretfully, and cried, "Now!"

Eleven soldiers ran forward, knives held at the ready to capture 'Sayris Meto'. Eleven pairs of eyes stopped and stared in confusion. The dim light played over the water, revealing a sodden velvet lump.

_Clever girl!_ Connac cheered mentally. Salem was nowhere to be seen.

INTERMISSION! INTERMISSION! INTERMISSION! INTERMISSION! INTERMISSION! INTERMISSION! INTERMISSION! INTERMISSION! INTERMISSION! INTERMISSION! INTERMISSION! INTERMISSION!

This is where I would've finished chapter seventeen if I had had the time…oh well. This officially marks the beginning of Chapter Eighteen in _Thorn and Misery_…

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Dawn came.

Murtagh's eyes forced themselves open, wincing at the bright sunlight. With a groan, he sat up slowly, blinking in mild confusion. He was stiff—who wouldn't, having fallen asleep on a hard marble floor? But why—

_Oh_.

Memories tumbled back, bringing with them a terrible feeling of shame. Galbatorix _knew_ now, and Murtagh was powerless to oppose him. He slumped against the marble wall, feeling sick despair flood him. _You idiot,_ he thought bitterly to himself.

_And if we are done kicking ourself now?_

Murtagh growled. _Stay out of this, Thorn,_ he said shortly. _I don't need your sarcastic quips. Not today._

With a flutter of wings, Thorn landed on the balcony. It creaked alarmingly under his weight—Thorn was a dragon large enough to carry two passengers, and he was growing bigger every day. Ignoring the protesting screeches, Thorn said mildly, _It wasn't your fault, you know._

_I'm a direct line to Galbatorix,_ Murtagh said angrily. _I betrayed Martaila and Neal because I can't be trusted even in my own head—_

_You are moping._ Thorn's voice was suddenly sharp, cool. _What's done is done._

_So what am I supposed to do?_ Murtagh cried, spinning to face the red dragon. _Galbatorix used my true name—I—_

_I _knowThorn's voice contained exaggerated patience. _I was in your head, if you didn't notice. _In a softer tone, he added, _I felt the pain, too. The shame._

Murtagh let the words sink into his mind slowly, absorbing what they meant. Finally, he said dully, _And what now?_

_We fool, of course,_ Thorn answered, his voice dry. _We toodle and we twiddle and we—well, you get the idea. There's always a loophole somewhere. Somehow. _He cocked his head, bright red eyes fixed on Murtagh. _You just need to know how to look._

_I doubt there's any here,_ Murtagh said grimly. He staggered to his feet. _He was very explicit._

_Oh yeah? Give me a try. The old man was blocking it; very bad transmission. Let me hear it._

Murtagh sighed. _It's a trap,_ he said finally. _My job, apparently, is to find Salem, draw Martaila and Neal out…_

_Salem is what Martaila wanted,_ Thorn mused. _Hmm. Is it the nice little brute force approach? Draw them out and capture them with soldiers? Or will Galbatorix himself be there? Brom's son and all, you've got to get a bit fancy._

_No,_ Murtagh said bleakly. _It's me. I'm supposed to do it._

_Ah. Hmm. This is a very stupid plan,_ Thorn said, frowning slightly. _Why doesn't he just swoop into the woods and grab them himself? Who cares about Salem anyway? She's just a game piece, a pretty worthless one too. The heart of Peregrine lies with Neal and Martaila…and we know where they are already. The hard part is Salem. Not anybody else._

_I don't know,_ Murtagh said quietly. _He didn't tell me why. Just said to capture her. _His throat clenched strangely at the thought.

Thorn sniffed. _All right, so let me get this straight. The orders are for us to get Salem and use her to take Martaila and Neal—_

_No,_ Murtagh said softly. _The orders are for _me_ to take Salem. You…_ He sighed. _I don't know, Thorn. He wants to see you._

Thorn flinched. _Me?_

_You._

They eyed each other for a moment, dread growing at the thought. _He wouldn't separate us,_ Thorn voiced uncertainly. _Would he?_

_I…I don't know_.

And that's when the balcony fell down.

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Salem finally emerged out of the sewers right after sunrise. She had the uneasiest night of sleep she'd had in years, kept awake both by a stirring worry and the foul reek. Yes, she'd seen the soldiers leave, but who was to say they stayed gone?

People were awake even at this early time. Nobody could make out the royal insigna on her uniform (a black crown set on a white field above thirteen stars) since it had gotten considerably dirty, and that suited Salem just fine. She didn't need the hassle that palace servants got outside the walls.

The section of the city was unfamiliar to her. Gathering her courage, Salem stepped up to a scruffy man about her age. "Um, hello?"

He turned to face her, eyes bright and inquisitive. "Yeah? What do you want?"

His accent was terribly thick. Salem took a deep breath and plowed on. "I'm a bit lost. Could you tell me where this place is?"

He scratched his neck with a dirty hand and shrugged. "Depends on who you ask."

"All right, I'm asking you." Not a philosopher, please. She really didn't need the extra hurdle now. "Where's this place? What road?"

He gave her a cheeky grin. "This is Donnor's Alley. At least I think it is," he added reflectively. "It might be Wellspring Alley instead. Or it might be neither. Nobody's come round and properly named these roads in years."

So it could only be the slums—the roads where she grew up were always properly named and immaculately kept. Great. Half an hour of aimless wandering and she was still not out of the mudpits of the city. "I see," she said, resignation in her voice. "Well, thank you."

She'd moved about one step before she heard him speak again. "Well, do you need some help? Lass like you can't be here often if you're asking about roads."

Salem turned partially, eyeing the man with unhidden skepticism. "What kind of help?"

He raised an eyebrow. "It's dangerous here," he said mildly. "Thieves, cutthroats, rapists. Plenty of fun all around."

She grimaced, her mind spinning. Where _would_ she go? Anywhere reputable in the city she was sure to be caught…the slums might be her only hope of staying unnoticed. But _rapists!_ This wasn't safe, not for her, not for…

_Well, would you rather prefer the relative safety of a mucky alley to the cold stone of a jail cell?_

Unfair. How was she supposed to answer a question phrased that way? It was a Hobson's choice! With a sigh, she turned to him. "Well, how do you know I can trust you? You could be one of those thieves or cutthroats or rapists yourself."

He grinned slightly. "So suspicious. Well, I might, or I might not. I might just be a nice stranger who'd like to offer a helping hand. Or I could be a stalker waiting to lure woman just like you. Who knows? If you'd like to come with me, call me Gen and follow along." His grin widened, and he turned around to leave.

Salem hesitated for a fraction of a second, running her options through her head. The story was the same as it was a few minutes ago, only…

Reynold's voice flashed through her head, reassuring and tinged with a laugh. _"Salem, that's what I love about you. You're so spontaneous."_

She shook her head violently. _My spontaneity killed you_, she thought, a sob rising in her chest. _Oh, Reynold_.

Before she could come to her senses, she lunged forward, almost running into Gen. "I'll come," she blurted out. "Gen."

He turned around, a hint of a smile around his eyes. "What a pleasant surprise! Well, what's your name?"

His question caught her off guard. Salem fumbled for an answer. "Sa—Charis. Uh—yeah. Charis, I mean."

"Don't know your own name," he said, cocking an eyebrow. "Worst case of amnesia I've ever known. Lost, wearing a palace uniform whose scent could match a sewer rat, but wearing a good bracelet worth about two silver crown…poor folk don't have those." He shook his head. "Well, Charis, welcome to the boroughs, otherwise known as the slums to all them rich folk. Are you on the run, by any chance? Away from the law?"

She paused, eyeing him suspiciously. "Will my answer matter?"

He laughed, thumping her on the back. "Well, if I were nitpicky, without a doubt it would. But I'm not. Come on, then. It's not far from here."

Salem held back, frowning slightly. "_What's_ not far from here?"

Gen grabbed her hand, pulling her forward. "You'll see."

Salem was starting to have some serious second (and third…and fourth…and fifth…) thoughts as Gen towed her down a series of increasingly slimy roads. When he finally tried to pull her into a shadowy tavern, Salem set her feet in and refused to budge. "Stop it," she snapped, slapping her hand free. "Where are we going? _Who are you?_"

He looked at her with a bland expression. "I'm Gen," he said finally. "And in this tavern, Miss Charis, is where we are going."

"How do I know you don't have some robber friends inside?" she demanded, eyes blazing.

He gave her a wry smile. "You don't. A few more steps and you'll find out, won't you? Or are you too scared?"

Salem refused to fall for his goading. "Stop that," she said sharply. "I've got common sense, is all."

"Inside," he said after a pause. "I'll tell you there."

Salem eyed the tavern doubtfully, stepping cautiously closer to eye it through the murky windows. She couldn't see anything but shadowy figures shifting about. Finally, she turned back to Gen, who was still watching her patiently. With a deep breath and some of that cursed spontaneity of hers, Salem marched to the door and flung it open.

Behind her, she felt Gen's firm hands pushing her in. Salem swallowed nervously as his touch left her back and the door shut firmly with a click. If Gen really was out to lure young idiots like her…

…she was in major trouble.

It was dark, with only a faint eerie yellow light. Salem squinted, but the shadows she had supposed were people were missing. It was completely empty.

Her head throbbed, and Salem realized with a sudden rush of nausea that _it_ was happening again. The same thing Talinia had tried to do to her—only—the barrier crystal seemed to be blocking the touch somehow. But damn, it _hurt!_ She grabbed her temples with her hands, trying to block down the rising edge in her stomach—

Then, as suddenly as it came, the touch disappeared. There was a soft whisper, and the lights flared on. Biting back a yelp, Salem clapped her hands over her eyes and peeked out gingerly.

Gen was in front of her, gently prying her hands away from her face. When she could see enough to focus on him, he smiled at her. Behind him, there were others, curiously looking at her.

"Welcome, Salem, to the last of the Sílica," he said.

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_End of Chapter Eighteen_

I have Big Plans for Gen. In case you were wondering, there is NOTHING anything remotely related to a Gen/Salem relationship. But Gen will be very important; at least I think he will. Connac has played his part; he'll fade back into the woodwork for the time being. Nothing of him for a while.

And yes, the balcony really did fall down. It's all Thorn's fault—he's getting too big, anyhow. What a mess.

Galbatorix has his reasons for wanting Salem, as will Murtagh (although he doesn't realize it yet). Look back to the riddle in chapter five; it'll (maybe) help a little. And Thorn has a job to do…which he doesn't know yet.

I sound like I have a plot, don't I? Um…I don't. But I do have a very specific idea of the climax and what will happen to the characters. I just haven't worked out the technicalities yet :)

When is Eragon scryed in Ellesméra? Does anybody know?


	19. Chapter 19

Reviews!

**Mistress-of-Misery: **Ahh! You're right, it is a crown. I've corrected it...no, Murtagh didn't fall down with the balcony. He falls down with Thorn :)

**Gewher: **Do you like Gen? Hmm…well, he's not available, at least not for Salem. He's got another love (who I'm not going to tell you)!

**Emerald Tiara: **The Silica is basically another name for Peregrine, and Peregrine is a name for both a person and a group. You'll see.

**Shadeslayer390: **Good! Gen will be important (I THINK!) so I hope I can make his character likeable.

**DragonMaster1992: **Thanks!

**Bananasrokk: **No, I take that as an absolute compliment o.O

**I Elenial I: **Jerry Spinelli is okay, just not the kind you'd want to read after a couple of years because it all starts to seem kind of idiotic. And I try to update about once a week but some things (i.e., midterms and evil writer's block) happen to get in the way. :)

**Trinity Anya: **Yes, ma'am! Anyway, I'm just glad you could review. You were one of the first to review this story and it's nice to see you're still reading (and reviewing!)

**Tarwen Svit-Kona: **Symbolic? Eh…no, not really. I'm afraid my mind isn't as, shall we say, deep to think of such things. But it's an interesting connection.

**Randomcat23: **Yep, this plot is developing in ways I thought it would never go. Even I can't wait to see what my muse will dictate!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

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_4/3/101_

"_AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"_

A horrendous shriek rose up from the smashed remains of Murtagh's (and the two floors below his) balcony. _"NO! NO! HELP!"_

With a sweep of his tail, Thorn tossed Murtagh onto his back. The Rider ended up slung over the dragon like a bag of potatoes, clinging for dear life while trying not to get shredded by the sharp red scales. Then, Thorn accelerated sharply, landing on the ground with a heavy thump. _Murtagh!_ he snapped. _Somebody's injured—_

The servants were backing up, fearful looks on their faces as they regarded the great red dragon. Whispers spread through the crowd, annoying Murtagh unduly as he picked himself up and tried to regain some dignity. There _was_ a person trapped under the splintered remains, a person whose face was pale with fear and pain as Murtagh approached. He tried to move away from the Rider but was stopped by the length of marble crushing his chest. "Rider," he gasped shallowly. "You—you—"

"Me," Murtagh said shortly. "Don't try to talk."

The servant mutely shook his head, staring wide-eyed up at Murtagh. The Rider ignored him and focused, digging through a varied vocabulary to find the words he needed. _Thorn,_ he added, _I—_

_Like you needed to ask?_ the dragon said snippily. _I suggest 'risa du'…ah…what's the word for 'big, heavy marble block'?_

_I think the closest match would be 'limia', _Murtagh replied absently. _Maybe…_

_Just say it already!_

Murtagh took a deep breath and reached for the flow of magic within him. Thorn's greater rush melded with his mild current, and the wave of magic built up, surging for a release. Finally, in barely a whisper, he said, "Risa du limia! Huildr!"

The block wavered, then rose slowly. Even with Thorn's help, it was a strain—he had never tried carrying something this large before. With an effort, he concluded, "Gánga aptr! Letta!"

It fell with a solid thump. Murtagh rested for a moment, then knelt over the man, examining him. There was no blood, but Murtagh knew from experience that there didn't have to be for a wound to be life-threatening—and this was. The man's chest was, quite literally, caved in.

_Thorn—_he began, then interrupted himself. _Never mind._

_I knew you'd see sense,_ Thorn remarked with satisfaction. _We can't just leave the poor fellow to die._

_Then I will need help,_ Murtagh said somberly. He took a deep breath and placed his hand on the man's chest, summoning every last ounce of energy he had. Slowly, carefully, he uttered what he needed to say.

It was long and complicated, filled with words that Murtagh knew he was pronouncing correctly (considering that Galbatorix had trounced him in it for three days…he had better be) but otherwise had no idea what it meant. The king had described it as 'a handy all-purpose healing spell'. And now it was working.

White light flowed from his gedway ignasia, pooling and swirling around the man's chest. It spread and looped gracefully throughout his body, sinking deep inside and healing, reinflating lungs, mending organs, repairing ribs and muscles. Murtagh gasped, reaching deeper into Thorn's resources to fuel the magic. His vision began to blur, and a dull headache started.

_We can do it._ Thorn's voice was firm, a lifeline for Murtagh to tie onto. _To heal isn't beyond us, Murtagh. It never will be_.

Then, with a jerking suddenness, it ended. The magic cut off abruptly, and the white light faded. Murtagh pulled his hand back slowly, feeling as if he were moving in mud. All he wanted to do was sleep. Just fall right down and collapse. _Can you just throw me on again?_ he muttered wearily to Thorn. _I don't think I can climb on._

Thorn's tail prodded him lightly. Murtagh winced (dragon tails are sharp…very sharp…) and looked up to meet Thorn's eyes. _Turn around,_ the dragon told him gently. _Say hello. They're all watching you. _In a grumpier tone, he added, _I _am_ linked to you. If I can handle a smile and a wave after all that, so can you._

_I'll play diplomacies with them next time—_Murtagh began foul-temperedly.

_This has nothing to with diplomacy,_ Thorn interrupted. _This has to do with simple human to human interaction. Just turn around. I think the guy you healed has something to say._

Murtagh sighed deeply. _All right,_ he said finally, composing himself and turning around to face the crowd.

The man he had healed stepped forward hesitantly, watching Murtagh with something akin to awe. He bowed deeply and said in a hushed voice, "I thank you, Rider."

Thorn's chest rumbled softly in a laugh. The crowd didn't seem to recognize it as such, though, backing away in fear and murmuring rapidly as smoke curled from Thorn's nostrils. Murtagh stared at the man before him and finally nodded once. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

It was said in a very low voice, but his words were carried into the crowd. Slowly, they drew nearer again, watching, waiting. "I owe you a debt, Rider," the man continued. "If it's not too presumptuous to say."

Murtagh managed a smile, then swayed. Now_ will you pull me out of here? _he demanded crossly.

_Oh, all right. I suppose we can leave the mess to clean up another time…say, is that Galbatorix? _Thorn's voice was sharp, suddenly taut.

Murtagh shaded his eyes and looked, then leaned against Thorn with a tired groan. The dark-cloaked figure striding purposefully towards them _was_ the emperor.

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Salem gaped stupidly at Gen, who pinched her mouth shut. "You're catching flies," he teased. "Close your mouth."

Salem pulled away. When her mouth was free again, she said in a hushed voice, "Silíca? Isn't that…"

"Peregrine? Yes." Gen suddenly looked grave, somber. "We are what is left after the routs of two nights ago. What few have managed to assemble…there are only six of us here. Seven, with you."

"Quite a few," a light male voice said to the side. "Considering, Gen, that there were only about two-and-a-half dozen of us to begin with."

Gen turned to face the speaker, a mischievous smile brightening his face. "Salem, this is Ides. He's a clumsy brat, but his magic more than makes up for it."

She stared at Ides. With a feeling of mixed pity and disgust, she realized that his right hand was missing. He followed her gaze and smiled crookedly, his eyes watching her for a reaction.

Salem tore his gaze away and tried to make up for the awkward moment. "Hello," she said lightly.

"Orcane and Siyana bless, you smell worse than a sewer rat," Gen interrupted quickly. "Well, we don't have much here, but we'll try to whip up a good hot bath for one as smelly as you. Let me introduce you to the others and we'll be off, won't we?"

"Yes," Ides said, his eyes still fixed on Salem.

"I'll handle it," Gen said in a mildly annoyed tone, and left.

"But wait!" Salem blurted, a question popping into her mind. "How—how did you know I was Peregrine? I could've been anyone—and my name! How—"

Ides reached out and tugged out the two crystal necklaces Salem wore. He held up one, letting the crystal catch the light. "This crystal focuses and creates an artificial barrier around your mind, but it's never as good as one of your own making. You'll have to learn how to focus your mind. This will keep out an amateur, but a more powerful and learned magicker can tell instantly that it's fake and slip through it." He laughed. "And that's how I found out your name."

Salem jerked away, feeling extremely uncomfortable. Finally, she said grumpily, "How much did you find out?"

Ides's gaze never left her eyes. "A guilt," he said finally. "A love."

Salem swallowed, feeling uneasy and awkward. Despite herself, she kept on staring at his missing right hand, and Ides was well aware of her gaze. There were a few more minutes of uncomfortable silence, then the others interrupted. "Hey!" a short dark haired woman said. "Are you three just going to stand there, or shall we be introduced?"

"You're right," Ides murmured, then tore his stare away. "Well, Salem Blackfire, this is Rina Onandatir," he said, gesturing to the dark-haired woman. "And this is Liane Jeryl, Serrion Carpen, and Matiel Ryeson. I am Henrides Miyan, but most people just call me Ides."

The remaining members of Peregrine, two women and two men, greeted Salem with varying degrees of curiosity and good humor. Salem's smile started to feel fake after a while (and she knew she would forget all these names soon), and so when Gen returned from a back room she was more than happy to escape into the safety of a good hot soak.

Salem lay in the hot, _clean_ water, dozing blissfully. She couldn't recall the last time she'd had a decent bath like this…alone…warm…voices occasionally touched her ears, but it was a pleasant murmur and nothing she couldn't cope with. Everything that remotely disturbed her could be left for some other time…slowly, she relaxed, enjoying the feel of calm peace.

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_End of Chapter Nineteen_

Aaah. Makes me want to go snooze myself…but unfortunately my bathroom is one of those stand-up shower types. No hot baths for me :(

Well, that was a half-cliffhanger, I think. The course of this story is just _teeming_ with cliffhangers (as you may have noticed). I can't help it; as I may have mentioned once or twice, I have no real technical chapter-to-chapter plot. Just ideas and endings.

Most of these names given today are fairly insignificant…Gen is the one you need to focus on. Either him or Ides. It _was_ going to be Gen at first, but as I'm developing Ides…I find I rather like him. Anyway, leave it to fate and the idle tappings of fingers on the keyboard :)

I'm going to be going back and editing chapters—nothing major, just tweaking sentences so they make more sense. I might also tack an interlude onto chapter two; a scene that I was too squeamish to do before—namely, Murtagh's torture when he first enters Uru'baen. Anyway, I might not. We'll see how much spare time I have.

Also, an error I saw in last chapter, concerning the flag. It's thirteen stars, for the thirteen Forsworn. I've gone back and corrected it, but I just thought I'd mention it. And the basis of currency is indeed a crown, so I've gone back and switched that too.

A rough schedule for all of you: I think this story will reach climax in 10-13 chapters, and after that will wind down for about 3-5 chapters until the Burning Plains. And after the Burning Plains…uh…well, I'll think of that when I get to it. So if I keep up at a chapter a week, at most it'll be about 5-6 months until this story is done.

Wow…maybe I'm just feeling exceptionally nostalgic now, but I'm really looking forward to it. Please continue to read and review. I really do value your reviews, and you guys are who I'm writing this story for.

So, next week!

表單的頂端


	20. Chapter 20

Reviews!

**Emerald Tiara: **Oh, come on. The anticipation is the whole point of this story! Drawing it out…mwahahaha!

**DragonMaster1992: **Autumn Light? I'll take a look and see. I hate Indiana Jones, it's so…stupid. But hey, that's just my opinion. I'll see!

**Mistress-of-Misery: **Well, somebody's got to look at the deatails, or we'd go all wrong! And yes, I am Chinese, Taiwanese more specifically. I have no idea how those little words got onto the file—must be a side effect of this computer or whatever.

**Telementhia: **Which lines? I'll correct it if that's true!

**Dreamer of Dancers: **And you…are…I Elenial I! You know, all these name changes are a wee bit confusing…

**Not a GeishaGurl: **Oc? Afraid I'm not familiar with that lingo. Is it the same as ooc or different?

Here! Is! The! Chapter!

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_4/3/101_

"Murtagh!" the emperor cried jovially as he came nearer. "My friend, what are you doing here?" He raised an elegant eyebrow and waved disdainfully at the huge pile of broken marble. "Amid such a disgraceful mess?"

A low growl came from Thorn. Murtagh ignored him and forced his trembling muscles to still. "It was an accident," he said curtly. "I apologize."

Galbatorix laughed. "Why bother? It doesn't matter. It's just a hundred thousand gold crowns in pure elvish marble dating from the time of Illirea, that's all. It's quite all right, but I must say you're lucky that I can fix it. Because if not…" he let the words trail off ominously, his smile not reaching his eyes.

Next to him, the marble began to wriggle, melding together into a single mass before breaking apart to form three balconies. Galbatorix motioned upwards and the marble lifted, raising themselves back to their original positions before fusing effortlessly with the rest of the palace. The crowd murmured with excitement; Murtagh felt unnerved. He and Thorn had strained to lift a single block…this took far more energy. Yet Galbatorix had done it easily—so much power!

A voice in his ear disturbed him. "Shouldn't you be off? I believe you have much to do!" Galbatorix's arm was slung over Murtagh's shoulder in a friendly, companionable way, a broad smile on his face.

Murtagh jerked away. Galbatorix let him, his eyes gleaming as he turned to Thorn. "A dragon!" he cried. "Your name—ah, how it escapes me. But I beg you to grant me an audience, there is much we have to discuss." He smiled benignly, then turned to the crowd, inclining his head. "Masters, mistresses, I believe you have tasks to do?"

The members of the crowd curtsied or bowed according to their gender, then vanished with amazing speed. Galbatorix watched them go, his smile gaining a touch of malice as he turned back to Thorn and Murtagh. "Murtagh," he said softly, "I believe you should leave now."

Murtagh swallowed deeply, his weariness banished for the moment. Finally, in a grim voice he said, "What will you do to Thorn?"

Galbatorix didn't answer him, but his smile had definitely gotten nasty. "Leave, Brikijae Knívarya," he said, invoking Murtagh's true name. "You have a task to do."

Murtagh had no choice. His muscles seized involuntarily and he was powerless to resist the strange force that walked him away from the emperor and Thorn. _Thorn,_ he said desperately, _no matter what he does…_

_I know,_ Thorn whispered. _Wait—what—no! _His voice was agitated, sharp, then cut off abruptly. The dragon's ever-present whisper in Murtagh's mind was gone, vanished. Murtagh swallowed painfully, straining to turn back. Galbatorix had blocked Thorn's connection to him…just like before, he was alone now.

It wasn't until he exited the palace through the front gate that Murtagh was in control once more. The guards gave him odd looks as he dropped against the flagpost, eyes closed as he tried to squeeze a much needed rest into five minutes.

When he felt marginally better, Murtagh stood, his eyes clear and hard. If he had to find Salem…well, he would. How?

Galbatorix had told him that she had reentered the city but had subsequently vanished. A patrol had been sent out to capture her, but at that time Galbatorix had no news. Murtagh rubbed his forehead and sighed. The first order would be seeing if she had exited the city, then, though he found that somewhat unlikely. At the very least, he could see if the patrol had found her.

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Salem sat bolt upright, her heart pounding madly. For one horrible moment she'd thought that Galbatorix had gotten her, his eerily handsome face filling her view and laughing. She'd never heard him laugh in reality, but in her dream it echoed and filled the very corners of the privy, but then from the hole came a roaring dragon that blew purple fire…

"Just a dream, Salem," she told herself fiercely. "You're at home, you're safe, you're—AUGH!" With a yell, Salem fought to get free of the blankets and ended up falling out of the bed into an ungainly heap. She managed to get her head free and looked out, blinking.

"You're awake!" a woman from before came in, the dark-haired woman from before. "We feared you never would."

Salem grunted and rubbed her clothing uneasily as she wrestled the last few blankets into a heap. Her palace uniform was gone, replaced by a clean cotton shift. Finally, she said, "How long did I sleep?"

The woman—what was her name again? Rione? Rila? It began with an 'r'…--gave her a look. "Well, let's see," she said. "You crawled out of the sewers near dawn, and it's about half past noon. So I'd say six hours, give or take."

"Six hours!" Salem gasped. "But—"

"Oh, don't worry. Nothing's gone on. Liane helped me change you, by the way—falling asleep in sudless bathwater is fairly undignified." She smiled wanly as Salem blushed deeply, producing a half-squeak.

"Ah, don't worry about it," the woman—not Rione, then, maybe Rila? Rina?—said. "It's not like we haven't seen bodies before." Her face darkened momentarily. "Most of the time, it's not by choice or love, at least not ours."

She stared off into space, her hands clenching and unclenching slowly. Salem felt deeply unnerved, watching her. "Um…mistress?"

The woman shook herself and gave Salem a distracted smile. "It's Rina. I'm only a few years older than you, so we don't have to get formal here. Well, come on then. Ides would like to speak to you, and hopefully…hopefully he'll be back soon.

As Salem followed Rina out of the room, she was starting to feel increasingly lost and stupid. Where was she? She was in a house of sorts, a bit small for seven people but quite cozy and clean. There were two rooms branching off from the main room and a corridor leading to what probably was a privy. There were windows through which bright sunshine shone, and the door wasn't blocked or nailed over. Wildly, Salem wondered if this was the same building she had entered into only hours before. To distract herself, she asked Rina, "Is Ides the…I don't know, the leader here? If there is a leader?"

Rina seemed grateful for the distraction. "Well, I suppose. He's as close as we'll ever get to a leader…well, along with Talinia, he's always been one of our strongest magickers and he has a few useful contacts in the printing industry. I don't know the extent of what he's done, but believe me, it's a lot." She shrugged and peered out of one of the bright windows. "Ides said he'd be back by now…why don't you wait here? It shouldn't take long."

Salem leaned against the wall as Rina left, carrying a pile of clothes down the corridor. The room was empty of people, but it carried a cheerful air. She looked around, found a chair, and waited.

And waited.

Ides showed no signs of returning. Rina returned after a few minutes, her lovely face showing fear and concern as there was no Ides in the room. "Is he usually punctual?" Salem asked. "I mean, is he on time? What did he say?"

"Oh, I don't know," Rina muttered, looking intently out the window. "He and Matiel left, and Ides said that he'd be back by half past noon. It's got to be at least one o'clock now…" she shook her head and sighed. "I'll go look for them, all right? You stay here."

"But wait!" Salem yelped as Rina put a hand on the doorknob. "Where's everybody else? Ides and, uh, the others?"

Rina sighed. "Serrion died while you were sleeping," she said in a softer voice. "There were some members of the guard coming back to the guardbarracks, and, well…he's been evading capture ever since the routs. It was only a matter of time. They captured him and were about to have a magicker probe him, but he committed suicide. He's hanging on Traitor's Wall right now." She swallowed, then continued. "Gen, he was with Serrion, but as far as we know he managed to escape. We don't know where he is right now. Liane went to find him a couple hours ago. As for Ides and Matiel…" she slammed a hand against the window, her face burning with frustration and anger.

It hit Salem, right then, that Peregrine was serious. Just how serious, she never had fully understood…it had been a minor thing for her, kind of like joining a club. But Peregrine was more than a club—Serrion had _died_ while she was sleeping. Sílica was a matter of life or death. She looked at Rina's face then said carefully, "Don't worry. I'm sure they're fine. Ides is a magicker, after all."

"You think magickers are immortal? It took four people to take down Tria, but she died just like the others. Like Riol. Like Quinden. Like Fyora and Serrion!" Rina took a deep breath, obviously struggling to control herself. Finally, in a calmer voice she said, "I'll wait a few more minutes, all right?" She turned around, her back to Salem, but anyone could tell she was shaking.

Five minutes passed, then ten. Rina seemed to be hesitating, her hands shuffling the same papers over and over, arranging the same blankets in different patterns, lighting candles, blowing them out. Finally, she said in a tight voice, "I'll be going, then," and slammed the door as she went out.

Salem felt adrenaline start to pour in her veins. Where _were_ Matiel and Ides? She stood, half-deciding to follow Rina, then sat back down. _Just a few more,_ she decided uneasily.

It was now one forty-five.

At exactly one forty-nine, the door slammed open. In rushed Liane, carrying Gen, behind her were Ides and Rina. They paid no attention to Salem as they laid Gen on a couch, peeling back his shirt and a rough bandage to reveal a giant, gaping wound in his side. Salem felt bile rise in her throat as she saw it. It was swollen around the edges, with blood leaking out, dripping onto the couch, staining hands and fingers. Gen's eyes were closed, his breath coming with shallow gasps, his face deathly pale.

"Oh, Gen," Rina whispered. "What did you do?"

Ides's face was grim. Taking a deep breath, he laid his hand on the wound and muttered something long and complicated under his breath. There was a moment, then—

Salem's eyes widened as a bright light began to glow, coming _from _Ides, flowing down his left hand to encircle Gen. Ides staggered, his face tight with the effort. Her face set, Liane reached out and grabbed his right arm, holding him upright.

The light continued to flow. Before their eyes, the flesh began to close up, the muscles replicate…but it was happening so slowly, healing at a snail's pace. Salem's gaze flicked from Ides to the wound to Gen and back to Ides, willing him to hold on, to keep the light flowing. _Just a few more inches,_ she willed. _A few more minutes!_

Gradually, slowly, the last of the swollen flesh receded and smoothly mended, revealing pink, healthy skin. Ides gasped and fell heavily against Liane as the last of the wound sealed. Carefully, the woman laid Ides against a leg of the sofa and turned back to Gen. "Amazing!" she whispered. "So _this_ is what magic looks like."

Gen was looking much better, the color back into his face and his breathing calmer and steadier. Ides, on the other hand, had fainted. As Rina began to spread blankets to form a makeshift bed for him, Salem suddenly remembered something. "Where's Matiel?"

"Oh…he's out," Liane said evasively. Her gaze flicked to the drying droplets of blood. "I'll go clean this up."

As she returned and began to clean up the blood, Rina straightened. "Ides will survive," she announced. "I've not seen magic worked before, so I don't know what kind of strain it'll be, but his pulse is normal and he hasn't got a fever. I think he just needs a long rest."

"He deserves it," Liane murmured, then looked at Rina with a grin.

Salem was not about to be deterred any further. In a louder voice, she asked, "Where's Matiel?"

Both women paused. Finally, Rina said gently, "He's out. More than that, you don't need to know."

"All right," Salem said glumly after a long silence stretched. "Just one thing…is he out to…I don't know, avenge Serrion or anything? Will he kill people?"

Liane smiled sadly. "That's what Gen probably tried to do, and you see what happened. No, he's gone for another purpose. It'll take a couple hours."

"But—" Salem cut herself off with a sigh. It would only sound petty and whiny if she persisted. Finally, she said, "Is there anything I can do help?"

Rina laughed and exchanged a _look_ with Liane. "There's always chores," she said brightly. "Those always need doing."

Salem considered the prospect, then acquiesced with a groan.

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Murtagh stood in the guardbarracks, facing the soldier. "I don't have time for this,' he said in an irritable growl. "You may contact the emperor if you don't believe me, but I need to see the captain of this patrol and I need to see him _now._"

"Captain Blackfire has better things to do than talk to you," the man said coldly. "You have no verification to demand such a visit."

_Blackfire_. What was Salem's name—Blackfire, too? Then the leader of the patrol had to be her brother, the man she had spilled the beans to. Murtagh took a deep breath and was about to speak, but the soldier was still talking. "…you look pretty familiar. Familiar enough to have been the girl's companion."

Murtagh looked the soldier stonily in the eye. "Call the captain," he said quietly but with firm conviction. "All I am asking for is five minutes of his time. If he refuses to see me, then I will accept his decision and leave."

The soldier's expression never wavered for the whole of three slow minutes. Finally, he said with a baleful glare, "Drop all your weapons into a pile. If you're still carrying anything, I'll arrest you."

Murtagh hesitated, then gave a curt nod, laying his sword and boot knives onto the ground. The soldier stepped forward and frisked him. Finding nothing, he gave a nod. "All right, then. Follow me."

They went into the guardtowers, past other hard-faced soldiers and the occasional bewildered civilian. Finally stopping at an oaken door, the soldier pounded twice on it and called, "Captain, a visitor for you."

"Come in, Aynnar," came the reply.

Aynnar entered, opening the door to allow Murtagh in. "This man has no verification or authority, but he wishes to speak to you concerning the patrol sent out last night."

Murtagh shot Aynnar a dirty look, but the soldier's face was staring right ahead, standing solidly at attention. "So," a firm male voice said, "What do you want? What is your name?"

Intelligent gray eyes met Murtagh's own. Both of them recognized the other perfectly and also recognized the need for mutual secrecy. Finally, Murtagh said somberly, "I am Murtagh, sent from the emperor. I need to know the results of the patrol last night."

A long silence stretched. Finally, the captain stood. He was as tall as Murtagh and probably just as battle-hardened. If there were to be a fair fight, it would come close. "All right," he said finally, his voice mild. "But first tell me, what would you do with this information?"

They locked gazes. Murtagh grunted and said after a moment, "I would see if you've caught her. Get a basic bearing on her location."

"Then capture her." The expression on the man's face was perfectly bland, revealing nothing.

Murtagh's jaw clenched. "I would do what your patrol failed to do," he said coldly. "You have no right to pry."

"I see," the captain said softly, then nodded. "Well, aside from the fact you've insulted my men, you'll do." From among the various papers on his desk, he extracted a map. It was a rough draft, messily drawn and with ink blots all over the place. "We tracked her into the slums," he said calmly, "near this intersection." He drew an area that was about four blocks square, then continued, "and that's where we lost her. More than that, I can't say, though it's my suspicion she would continue to stay somewhere in that area."

Murtagh examined the map, then nodded. He straightened. "Thank you. May I keep this map?"

A light smile. "Yes, of course," the captain answered. "I wish you luck on your quest." He sat back down, his hand picking up a quill on his desk. "Aynnar, show our guest out, please."

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I have absolutely phenomenal news—drumroll, please! Dun dun dun! I have made a PLOT!

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, an actual plot. A PLOT! Isn't this great? That means I can plan out this story chapter by chapter according to the Plot instead of fumbling around 24/7.

HAHAHAHAA!

Now that I've sobered up a little bit, I have to apologize for this chapter. I know that it's not one of the more interesting ones, but believe me, according to my Plot this story should be heating up pretty soon. All I can say is, keep your eyes open and read carefully. Things aren't always what they seem.

And the other thing I have to say is that the schedule I gave you may not be entirely correct. Just take the numbers with a grain of salt, and don't be surprised if I reach the climax sooner or later than I said.

I know I said I wouldn't use Connac for a bit, and that's true—he'll fade back for a bit. But keep an eye on Ides and Gen—very important!

Okay. Extra note. I'm going around adding dates to all the chapters; they should help everybody (including me) keep track of events. Eragon will stay in Elleméra for roughly nine-and-a-half months, I'm setting the date of the Burning Plains for 9/17/101. Just so you know, in case you work by a different system, the first number is the month, the second the day, and the third is the year, starting from the Fall of the Riders. The Agaetí Blodhren will be set for roughly around 6/30/101 or so; if you have extra information or another date put it into a review (along with the page numbers in _Eldest _where you found itif you can!) and I'll adjust accordingly. I'll add the dates later, too lazy right now :)

And keep an eye out…I want to go back to Chapter Two and add in a torture scene of Murtagh. Yes, I'm morbid :) I really do think, however, that it would add to the impact of this whole fanfic. So we'll see.

Next week, then!


	21. Chapter 21

Reviewssss!

**Bananasrokk**: What happened to Thorn? Hmm. I've only done a Thorn POV once, but I could try again. We'll see.

**Dragonmaster1992:** Here…this chapter (in my opinion) is a bit lame, though.

**Mistress-of-Misery**: Yes, I know I'm actually really lucky because most stories never reach a hundred reviews, and I'm only about halfway through! It really is a huge inspiration :) Actually, this story is veering a wee bit off-plot already. I guess it's a gift, or a curse. I did mean to stick to the plot (seriously!) but as I'm typing, new ideas just form…I'll try to set it right again, though.

**Emerald Tiara: **How much do you think Eragon knows about history? I'm going by what it says in the prologue of _Eldest_—I quote: "A stalemate has existed between these factions for twenty years, preceded by eighty years of open conflict brought about by the destruction of the Riders." So that's a hundred years already. The first chapter takes place in the twelfth month (as soon as I get the dates up and running!) so that's another year. Now we have 101.

**I Elenial I: **Yes, I have plans for Gen, believe me! He's maybe about six feet-ish, dark brown hair that flops a little into his eyes, hazel eyes, slender, and has a mouth made for grinning! I like him; he'll play a big role to come!

**Gewher**: Ahhhhhhh! I seriously do mean to start a Murtagh/Salem relationship; it's just a little…slow. But it will come. Someday. That's why it's under the romance genre. And thanks for your other comments :)

**Mozart's Requiem**: That is a brilliant idea. I've never been one for symbols, but 9/11 for the Burning Plains is excellent. I love that.

Speaking of 9/11, are any of you going to watch the movie _United 93_? It's the first official movie to be made about 9/11…I know a lot of people are saying it's way too soon, but I think we've got to face it and remember it.

**Not a GeishaGurl: **I always thought ooc stood for out of character and that's when you bump something in that's…uh…not in character. But thanks!

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_4/3/101_

Martaila eyed the figure before her with deep suspicion, her crossbow held by her side and partially hidden in the swaths of her skirt. "Who are you?" she demanded again.

The stranger hesitated, then pulled down the hood to reveal a man, his hair a light straw brown, face slightly pale but set. "You can call me Barley," he said quietly. "I bring news."

Martaila's eye caught sight of Neal in the boughs above the man, his hunting bow held strung in his hand. She allowed herself a grim mental smile. "How do I have proof?" she demanded. "You could be anybody."

"Eka shakel sa Galbatorix, sen yawe foraya Sílica," he said in reply. Martaila considered it. True, he spoke it with a hideous accent and much halting (she rather suspected it was a memorized phrase), but it was in the ancient language. She gave a curt nod, fixing her eyes on him. He hesitated, looking a little taken aback by all the attention, then repeated, "I bring you news from Sílica."

She waited. He seemed uneasy, shifting within the folds of his cloak. "All right," he said resolutely when she didn't utter a single sound. "You might have to wait a little longer before you can rejoin us, Lady. I..."

"Does Miyan know about this?" she said, arching an eyebrow delicately.

"Miyan?"

"You might call him Henrides?"

"Oh." Barley flushed red. "Yeah, mostly Ides. But noooo…but please don't tell him, at least for a while. None of them know because, you know, I just—I—I—" he hesitated, then said, "I think there's a spy," he said in a rush. "A traitor. I've got no proof yet, just suspicions, but—please, please don't tell Ides. Sorry. Miyan."

"I hardly think he would be this spy you speak of," she pointed out. "Seeing as he is one of the _ringleaders_ of Sílica. If he were a spy, the whole operation would've fallen apart long before Heii was ever captured."

He hesitated. "Maybe. But all the same, I want to find out some more before finally telling anybody. Just please, Lady, for your sake and all who oppose the emperor, please stay hidden. And change hiding places. Something like that."

"That's a pretty speech," she said, her voice even. "Do you have anything else?"

"I don't know," he said, drawing his cloak back over his head. Martaila watched in stony silence as he slipped into the trees and out of sight.

Neal spoke as soon as he was gone. "If we're going to hide, we better do it quickly."

"Yes…we don't know when the dragon will be back, though." She tilted her head. "I'm starting to think it was a mistake to trust him."

"Half of what you told him was a thick batch of half-truths," he pointed out cheerfully. "The other half were half-lies. We never needed contact with Sílica."

"Yes, but I told them enough." Martaila rubbed her temples and sighed. "Pack whatever's left; it shouldn't take long. I'll find Reya. Meet me here and we'll leave."

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Murtagh leaned against a mucky wall, taking a deep breath and massaging his calf gingerly. His healing felt like it was falling apart now, and it was starting to hurt.

He straightened and consulted the map again. He had followed the smeared roads uncertainly and now was wandering again and again in the same four-block square, searching for any hint of Salem. It seemed so pointless—how did he know she had even stayed here?

A croaky voice interrupted his thoughts; a hand tugged at his sleeve. Murtagh looked down to see an old crone, grinning toothlessly up at him. "Spare a copper, good sir?" she said. "For an old maid who's got naught?"

He pulled his sleeve free. This was the fourth such beggar who had approached him. "I don't have any crowns," he said roughly. "Search elsewhere for your coin."

"I'll tell you a secret," she said, eyes glinting. "A secret about the child of eld."

"Sell your wares somewhere else," he said tiredly as his leg protested again. "I have nothing for you."

The crone laughed, then hobbled down the street. Murtagh watched her go, feeling drained. Where else could he search? Unless he wanted to raid all the buildings one by one…but there was no guarantee she was even _here_.

He leaned back against the wall, watching the slum folk go about their business. A group of street urchins were huddled together, whispering excitedly and throwing looks at him. A tired-looking woman trundled a wagon along the street, her step weary and resigned. An old man lay in a crumpled pile near a corner, the remains of a fish in front of him. A cloaked figure hurried past him and into a dingy-looking building. There was nothing to indicate that Salem had ever set foot in this part of the city.

He passed a hand over his eyes when a thought struck him. What was he doing, wasting his time by searching on foot? Why didn't he cast out with his mind? He'd touched Salem's mind before; she was guarded by a barrier that had a distinctive tone and field. He could sense it if he tried!

Murtagh laughed softly, then proceeded to search. Most of the minds opened to him easily, showing details of their sordid lives. He set out at a brisk pace, walking away from the urchins—their minds showed that they planned to jump him in a few minutes, and while he could handle them, killing them off wasn't very inconspicuous. The crone's 'secret' proved to be nothing but some odd children's rhyme. Moving onward, he slid into the tapestry of minds, searching for the distinctive feel of Salem's.

_Where are you hiding? Oh, I'll find you—_

There was a block! His mind bounced right off, unable to penetrate it. Murtagh stopped, searching and trying to pinpoint it. It wasn't Salem's, but it had a curiously similar feel. It was _much_ stronger, however, and was the work of—

He stopped. It was a strange block and spoke of several different people's power. This wasn't protecting a single person's mind—it was protecting a group, a place…

He ran forward, closing in. It was protecting a _building_.

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Matiel came in the door, looking tired and pinched. "How was it?" Rina asked softly.

He sat down hard, dropping his hood. "I don't know," he muttered.

"Did you get them?" Liane asked forcefully. "Where are they? Where's Peregrine?"

Matiel shook his head wordlessly. Liane and Rina traded looks; Liane shook Matiel slightly. "Did the emperor capture them? Why aren't they here with you, Matiel? _Where are they?_"

"Don't, Liane," Rina said softly. "Look, Matiel, what went wrong?"

Matiel swallowed, his gaze flicking to where Gen and Ides lay. "There were problems," he said hoarsely. "We got—we got split up, and—"

"Did _he_ come?" Liane said harshly. "He and that black devil?"

Matiel shrugged. "I didn't see…"

Liane gave a snort of disgust. "Well, brilliant! What do we do until then? Sit around and twiddle our thumbs and wait for them to pop up onto our doorstep? We've got no hope; Sílica's torn apart, and now we don't even have Peregrine. Good job, Matiel. And now—"

She continued in this vein for a while, ranting about the loss of hope and incompetency. Salem listened, bleak despair gathering. It was true, every single blasted word. Sílica had been destroyed by Heii's death and the routs, and now they were fugitives and traitors with nowhere to go. Without Peregrine, there was no hope now either.

She sighed and rolled over, staring idly out the windows. She should've never gotten involved in the first place. If she'd just used her common sense and not touched that crystal necklace, Aliya wouldn't have appeared, Reynold would be alive, Charis wouldn't be missing, and she wouldn't be rootless and useless in this whole stupid city. If only, if only. If only she'd—

"_What?"_

Salem gave a small hiss and leapt off the couch, stepping cautiously near the window. That was the Rider! Murtagh! He was leaning against a wall—eyes closed—

"Liane! Rina!" she said in a soft hiss. "Look—that's the Rider—"

Liane's speech halted; the two women flocked around her, peering anxiously. Liane turned to give Salem a sideways look. "You are sure?" she asked. "The second Rider?"

"How do you know?" Rina added.

"I—we've met," she said awkwardly. "I know what he looks like." Hurriedly changing the subject, she said, "We're guarded, aren't we? I remember how it looked different from the outside."

"That's an illusion to change the windows, that's all," Liane said grimly. "That spell also bars the door to outsiders, but if he manages to break in we're lost. It's not that strong—it's running on residual energy from what Talinia, Heii, and Miyan—Ides—placed in it."

"But it was dark when I came in," Salem said. "There's got to be something."

Rina laughed hollowly. "We blew out the candles. That's how we made it dark, Salem. No, we've—"

"There's a backup spell," Matiel said from somewhere behind them. "I don't know the technicalities, but I think it makes this place look deserted and dingy. We've got to get out of here for it to work; it doesn't make people vanish."

"But who's going to run it?" Liane yelled. "Ides is the only magicker and he's fast asleep!"

"He's leaving!" Rina said in a whisper. "Look!"

Sure enough, the Rider was walking away. Salem watched him go, feeling relieved. "That's a relief," Rina murmured. "Who knows what wanted?"

"Us? Or maybe he just couldn't find us."

"Or maybe he was here for some pleasure sightseeing, what do you think?" Rina joked. "See the pleasures of the dark side of Uru'baen."

They wandered away from the window; Liane to pore over some papers, and Rina to tend to Gen and Ides. Matiel stood watching Salem, a small frown on his face. "How do you know him?" he asked slowly. "You worked in the palace, right?"

Salem turned slightly, not liking the tone in his voice. "I had a few unfortunate encounters," she said shortly. "It wasn't very pleasant."

"Right." Matiel's tone was bland. "Gen brought you in, didn't he?" he asked suddenly.

She stared at him. "Right. So?"

He gave her a small half-smile, then turned around, disappearing into the bowels of the house. Salem watched him go, frowning slightly. What was he thinking?

She turned back to the window and got the shock of her life as she stared through the clear glass straight into Murtagh's face. "Rina—Liane—he's _back!"_

"_He's what?" _Liane said sharply, looking up. "Oh, dear Orcane and Siyana," she muttered. "He must have sensed something wrong at first—Matiel! Come here!"

Matiel came sprinting into the living room at a run. "What is it?" he asked, eyes alert. His gaze fell upon the Rider, and he understood instantly. "I'll get Gen and Ides out of here. Rina, help me—"

"No, wake Ides," Liane said tightly. "We need him to cast a diversion, no matter how drained he is. Get water and dump it on him—Rina, you do that. Matiel, get Gen out of here, Salem, you help him. What are you staring at me for?" She twisted slightly and gazed through the glass at the Rider. "Would you hurry it up? He's coming to the door!"

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Sorry…I know it's lame. But I've had this case of the most hideous writer's block anybody could ever be cursed with…it's Saturday morning and I'm typing this as quick as I can, making it up frantically as I go along.

I meant to send this on Saturday, by the way, but my computer screwed up majorly on me and wouldn't let me log in!

There are certain connections you need to make here or else you'll never understand what's going on. I'll help you a bit. Matiel is Barley, it's because of his last name, 'Ryeson' and so barley's just another kind of grain. Miyan is Ides. Peregrine and Sílica—Sílica translated _means_ Peregrine, but in the story context they have different meanings. Sílica is the name of the organization, while Peregrine is the name for a person.

Does that help clear it up a bit? Sorry, next chapter will be better. Also, I will _try_ to update next week, but I've got midterms (again). Well, you can't really call them midterms, can you? They come about once every two months and mean studying till you faint. So don't go around killing me if I don't update! But I will try my very best to complete a decent chapter.

Now, this note is no guarantee, but I think (_think!)_ the next few chapters will take place over a span of a few story days, at most a week. Not sure, though.

Here's a cast list to keep you all straight:

(original characters, minor or major) Murtagh, Thorn, Galbatorix, Twins

(my characters, alive, major characters) Salem Blackfire (23 to 25 or so years old Nealan (18 ish), Martaila sa DeVann (45), Henrides Miyan (Ides, Miyan, 26), Gen (no last name! 24), Matiel Ryeson (Barley, 22 years old, Liane Jeryl (32 years old), Rina Onadatir (31), Connac Blackfire (34 years old)

(my characters, dead or minor) Tria Atalini (Talinia, 32 years), Jacob (Heii, 46 years old), Reynold Barrickson (26 years), Charis Felin (24 years), and assorted other characters who are either unnamed or kicked the bucket too early to get a mention in here.


	22. Chapter 22

Okay, short chapter. Bad chapter. I've had the most incredible, incredible writer's block killing me and I really can't write anything…I am so sorry. But it was either this or wait another week, and I hate to do that because I didn't post anything last week. This chapter is extremely bad, and I swear to all the muses (Lisle, muse of emotion and empathy, Osprey, muse of adventure, action, and gore, and Deinr, muse of mind, spirit, and insanity) that the next one will be better.

**Gewher:** Gen will kick butt. I've got some really serious plans in for him…

**I Elenial I**: No, sincerely, I do love it when people review even if it's just to stop by and say that they're still alive on the Internet. So no matter what, just review!

**Mistress-of-Misery**: Broaden thine mind! Magic can do anything…anyway, it looks a lot worse from the outside.

**Luveroffanfic**: Oh, glad you dropped by anyhow.

**Silver sliver**: Hard to type your name…I keep on going silver silver or sliver sliver…ugh. The Twins pop up in this chapter, just a little mention. But as obnoxious as ever. And the true-name thing is through an act of extremely powerful magic. You know how Arya could summon the essence of silver? Well, I made it so that true names are the essence of a person, and if you're powerful and demented enough (Galbatorix…who else?) it's perfectly possible.

**Its.Garnet.Time**: Aww…so sweet. Nah, I want to find out what Paolini does; it'll be fascinating to see how much of it actually works with the theories and plots put forth in thies story.

Read! AND! REVIEW!

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_4/3/101_

Murtagh touched the window gingerly, attempting to scrub away a bit of the muck to see what lay underneath. It cleared away to show him murky, thick material that might have been poor-quality glass, he wasn't too sure. He couldn't see anything through it.

He headed to the door and knocked lightly. There was a few minutes' wait, then the door swung open a tiny crack to reveal a dirty-looking woman with a mangy shawl over her head. "What?" she snarled.

He tried to peer past her, but the room was dark. Carefully, he extended his mind to probe hers and touched a hard, firm barrier. Murtagh allowed himself a grim smile. "I am from the emperor," he said quietly. "I demand entrance."

"We ain't got nothin'," she snapped. "Go on ys'ways, you ain't welcome." She began to close the door.

Murtagh stopped it with a hand, gripping the splintery wood. "I am from the emperor," he repeated, his voice harsher. "I want to search your premises."

The woman clutched her shawl closer, eyes watching him beadily. "F'r what?" she snapped.

He gave her a pleasant, meaningless smile and attempted to push past her. He found his hand clenched in a surprisingly strong grip, her face cold. "Don't think cause you got a blade that you're some marker," she snapped. "We ain't got no room for beggars or thieves, blasted things." Her nails dug into his arm. "Get the hell out of here."

Murtagh ignored her, staying stock-still as she tried to shove him away and casting out with his mind to search for presences in the building. There were two others—one was weakly shielded. He hesitated briefly, then dug into the person's mind.

The first barrier crumpled like tissue paper, but an instant later a second shield appeared and layered over it. Whoever making it had also made the barrier on the building, he was sure of it, but it seemed porous somehow. All he needed were a few seconds and he could break it—

A pain on his face brought him back to his senses. "_OUT!_" the woman roared, slapping him again and kicking him into the street. "And don't come back!"

She slammed the door in his face.

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Inside the house, Liane tore the shawl off her head and turned to Rina and Ides, hidden in the darkness. "What happened?" she demanded.

Rina was trembling. "He—he broke in," she whispered. "I couldn't hold him—"

"So I stepped in," Ides said. He looked pale, leaning heavily against Rina. "I don't know how much he found, or—anything."

Liane looked out the window. The Rider was staring at the door with a very peculiar expression, apparently thinking. "We've bought time," she said quietly. "Ides, you know this whole…operation…better than I. There must be another safe house; somewhere we can hide."

Ides shook his head. "They were all destroyed during the routs…but…" he hesitated, then said very quietly, "There are some people who would take us in, for a price."

"What price?" Liane demanded impatiently. The Rider had drawn his sword now, and was pacing slowly.

"Gold, mostly," Ides said. "No questions asked."

"Great!" Liane snarled. "I'll just magick the gold out, shall I? Take it from my—"

"Liane," Rina said softly, "this isn't helping."

Liane cursed. "We'll have to take our chances with them," she said grimly. "If we stay here much longer, he'll bang in. Where's Gen and Matiel and Salem?"

Ides closed his eyes briefly. "They're not in the building," he said quietly. "I can contact them later, but we've got to get out of here first."

"The Rider's not pouncing out there anymore," Rina pointed out. He had walked off, apparently to circle the building. "We could try to just dash out now."

Ides gave it a distracted look, thinking hard. "Um…well, he might have put some ward or the other on it and—"

_Bang._

Splinters flew from the broken back door, and a rush of cool air came into the room. A strong voice called, "Come out! Now!"

"Shit," Liane swore, clenching her hands and bringing up her mental barriers as the Rider touched hers. Ides watched her carefully, then turned to Rina, who was having harder time fending him off. Once again, he shielded her, looking strained from the effort. Rina whimpered, clutching his hand tight.

Liane watched them, then nodded. Ides would hold, and Rina would survive. Grimly, she said, "When I give the signal, run out the door and get out of here."

Rina cast her a fleeting look, her face white. "What are you going to do?"

Liane laughed, a cold bark. The soft pad of footsteps stopped momentarily, then drew closer. "Darken the windows, Ides, would you?" She turned slightly and smiled a bitter smile as Ides closed his eyes and the windows faded. "Just go, Rina," she whispered softly, picking up a knife. "And you, Ides. We can't afford to lose you."

She pulled away from the others and stood near the wall, waiting.

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Murtagh stood in the hall, a knife held loosely at his side—swords would only be unwieldy in this cramped space. He had blown in the door—crude, maybe, but efficient. The spell cast on the door had given way after a few minutes of battering.

The windows had dimmed. Murtagh felt adrenaline pour through his veins, tensing him up for a fight. They had cut out the light for a reason.

Another step. Another.

A figure _slammed _into him; he had been partially expecting it and turned slightly, shoving with his shoulder. There was a strangled yell, and he heard the door slap open, light pouring into the house. Murtagh turned and whaled his assailant with the butt of his knife, producing another yell.

She—yes, it was female—reeled slightly, glaring at him with poisonous hatred. In her hand flashed a blade, and she threw herself at him with lightning speed, trying to stick it into his heart. Murtagh reacted instantly, crouched, and swung in a tight arc. There was a soft thump as his hand hit flesh, and she fell.

The blade had struck right underneath her heart, blood pumping out in unsteady spurts. Her hands scrabbled at the spot, then fell limp as if it wasn't worth the trouble. Murtagh wiped the blade slowly, feeling oddly empty. He knelt at her side, watching her. "Who are you?"

She coughed, sending blood spraying across the room. "What's it to you?" she choked.

A long shudder ran through her body, and her head tilted slightly in death. Murtagh stayed at her side for a while, thinking.

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Thorn dove at a suicidal speed down towards the trees, veering up at the last second, claws raking the air savagely. Frustration welled up from inside his chest, and he fought to buck it off, cursing Galbatorix again and again. _The scum,_ he thought furiously to himself, reaching out for Murtagh and again blocked by an icy barrier. _Damn, damn, damn him!_

There were soldiers underneath, picking their way through the greenery, led by the stinking Twins. Thorn watched them, innately furious but helpless to make a sound—he had been forbidden to make any sound of warning or to contact their prey. Thorn hissed, circling the woods, then said snappishly to one of the Twins, _If you're going to do this, you better get a move on it._

They laughed, a cold mocking sound. _And you have the authority to hurry us, little dragon? Keep your peace._

_Little—oh, I'll give you little—_Thorn did another mad dive to vent more of his feelings, this time _almost_ making the trees rustle as he passed. He had the perfect view of what was going on in the ground; the soldiers were tromping steadily closer to Martaila and Neal's hiding place.

_Run!_ Thorn yelled, though he knew perfectly well that his thoughts would reach nowhere. _Get the hell of out there!_

He swept closer, peering in. He couldn't see them; they were in the cave then. Unless—? He frowned. Maybe they left? Martaila was a wary kind; she wouldn't hang around forever, would she? She would leave. Right.

He killed the hope. How could they know to leave? He'd seen them just last night, and it was early in the morning now—they must have left in the dark hours, if they left at all.

He swept over the woods again, feeling thoroughly depressed.

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_End of Chapter Twenty-two_

Thorn and co. won't find anything because Martaila already left. I should've written that in as part of the story, but like I said, writer's block.

I'll bring Salem back in next time. I'm feeling kind of like Thorn right now…a wee bit depressed. Ugh. Maybe it's because I completely blew my Chinese midterm, earning the first fail grade on a major test that I've ever gotten in my life. I suck at Chinese. I did pass all of the others with decent grades, but still, Chinese was The Big One. Anyway, just the gripings of an annoyed adolescent…

And despite the total crappiness of this chapter, please Read and Review!


	23. Chapter 23

All right, people seem to be confused as to who Murtagh killed. Well, the answer is Liane. She was near the hall, she had a knife, and she charged Murtagh to give Rina and Ides the diversion they needed to escape. Murtagh didn't mean to kill her; it was a defensive strike that killed her.

**Mistress-of-Misery**: Yeah, but now that midterms are over I can take a break. Until, of course, the next round of midterms rolls around…sigh.

**Serrin verres**: Well, if you get up to this chapter you'll be able to see my response…but anyway, even if it is on a past chapter I do go back and edit them. So tell me what's wrong and I'll listen!

**I Elenial I**: Ooh. X-men. I hear there's another movie coming out this summer, which is cool.

**Shadeslayer390**: Well, I moved recently from the U.S. to Taiwan, which speaks Chinese, and having lived in the U.S. for the majority of my life my Chinese, uh, is not the best. So…yeah. Thanks!

**Silver sliver**: Sure, no problem! We revisit the sewers here…yippee. Go Salem. And a werecat? Where'd you hear that rumor? I'll get out my copy of _Eragon_ and take a look…

**Ariel32**: Salem wasn't in the last chapter. I should've added it in, but I was seriously depressed last week and didn't feel like writing. She comes out here, in this one. And glad you reviewed!

**IndianaJonesFanatic**: Sure, no problem!

**Gewher:** Ah! Vile language! Cowers How could you do this to me!

Nah, actually, it says above. You're not the only confused one here.

**Emerald Tiara**: See above…it was an accident, really.

**Grey Faerie32**: Thanks. Well, I'm my worst critic. Keep on reviewing! I hate it when my computer screws up on me too :)

So, I got past my depression and misery to give you Chapter 23 of Thorn and Misery!

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_4/3/101_

"Quickly," Ides panted. "Get in—quick—"

Both of them scrambled clumsily down the ladder into the sewer, breathing hard. "He killed Liane," Rina whimpered softly, hugging the slimy wall. "He killed her, he killed her—"

"You don't know that," Ides said firmly, shaking her arm. "Don't panic, all right? Liane will survive, and it won't do her any good if you go hysterical."

She swallowed, blinked rapidly to hold back tears, then nodded. "Yeah," she said, her voice shaky. "Okay."

Ides watched her for a moment longer, then nodded, closing his eyes. Where were Gen and Matiel and Salem? Ah…

He opened his eyes and laughed softly. "I guess the sewer's a haven for everybody," he said softly. "Well, well, well."

"It's dirty," Rina pointed out shakily. "Nobody legit in their right mind would set one foot down here."

"Yes, but we're not legit, are we?" Ides smiled. "We haven't been for quite a while. Don't worry."

"How far are they?" Rina whispered.

Ides considered. "Close enough to gather and meet," he said. "Gen's awake, that's good." He grinned. "Of course, if you can sleep through this stench, the only possible reason is that you're dead."

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Salem crouched delicately in the sewer, watching Gen and Matiel bicker about direction. "Well, what do you know?" Matiel asked snappishly. "You've been snoring your head off for the past five minutes."

"Awake long enough to know that you're definitely doing it all wrong," Gen shot back. "Don't you know what the backup plan is? Head for—"

"The smugglers, yeah, yeah. But unfortunately, oh Gen the Mighty, we have forgotten the stashes we were supposed to take. You think the smugglers will take a bunch of paupers into hiding?"

Gen sighed. "You're such a cynic," he said mournfully. "A skeptic. Look, if we need coins, I can get them. Let's just go to the smugglers and wait for—"

"You said you gave up your thieving ways," Matiel accused. "All the 'I'm a reformed character' crap."

Gen grinned. "Well, it's for a good cause, isn't it?"

They continued to trade insults for a while. Salem grew bored of watching them fight and stood, scanning the sewers. She didn't recognize this stretch, but it wasn't like she was a sewer expert or anything.

"Shh!" she hissed suddenly, hearing the soft pad of footsteps. "Can you hear that?"

There were footsteps, trekking steadily forward. Gen and Matiel traded glances, and Salem could feel herself tensing. They didn't sound like the heavy tromp of army boots, but you never knew—

"Ides!"

Gen stepped forward, laughing as he encircled Ides in a bear hug. "You're alive, you stupid magicker!"

"As are you," Ides returned with as cheerfully. It faded slightly as he added, "You should have never gone chasing after Serrion, Gen."

"Oh, is that what happened?" Matiel muttered.

Ides gave Matiel an odd look before turning back to Gen, who shrugged. "Look, it was stupid, but I did what I did," Gen said seriously. "I'm alive, you're alive, so let's leave it at that." His gaze flicked over Rina, and he frowned. "Where's Liane?"

"She—" Rina whispered, but Ides cut her off.

"She's back there," he said quietly, his gaze flicking to Gen's. "With the Rider. She may have survived, so there's no need to mourn yet." He turned, quickly changing the subject. "Look, the first point is to find decent shelter, and we need food."

Matiel's expression was grim. "Well, we left everything in the house," he said tightly. "Not a coin on us. The smugglers would never take us in."

There was a depressed silence.

"Well," Salem said, speaking up, "do they need coin necessarily? I mean, I've got these—" she pulled off both crystal necklaces, holding them up. "I'm sure they couldn't really learn to use them—"

"What's that?" Gen asked curiously as he brushed the necklaces with his finger. "Must've cost quite a bit. I think I could get at least four copper crowns from a ladder-dealer, and that means it's about eight on the legal market."

Ides shot him a look. "They're communication necklaces," he said mildly. "Tria thought up the idea. When Peregrine was running full force, Tria, Jacob, and I would magick and supply various contacts with these in order to recruit and deliver orders. Not everyone had one, actually, most didn't—Rina, you came to us through Jacob and lived at headquarters. Matiel, you too, except you came through Serrion, who was a recruit-contact. Gen, I found you, so you definitely didn't have one. It was mostly people who were too far or were in impractical situations for face-to-face contact who got one of these. Like you, Salem."

"I lived in the palace, yes," she said slowly. "Oh." She regarded them carefully, then closed her fist around them. "I'm sure they're worth something. Would the smugglers take them?"

"Yes," Ides answered. "They probably couldn't activate it, as the contact who held the key to it is dead. But that's not enough, not for five people."

A shadow brushed his face like a raven's wing, and he swallowed. "That's our problem," he said very softly.

"You're hiding something," Rina whispered harshly, pain clear in her voice.

Ides turned to face her, eyes glinting. Finally, he said, "If Liane is not dead…where do you think she'll go? What do you think will happen to her?"

"No," Rina whispered. Then, more violently, _"No!"_

"What can we do?" Gen asked softly.

Ides shook his head, looking at Gen bleakly. "I don't know," he said. "I don't know what to do, Gen, none of us do. We're fugitives, on the run, without purpose but to be hunted down one by one. They took Serrion first, then Liane. Who's next? Who will be taken?"

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Salem stepped away from the rest. Liane had raged about this, but hearing this in Ides's quiet, hopeless voice brought the impact. She crossed her arms about herself, unwilling to believe that she was practically dead already.

_No_, she thought viciously. _There has to be a way. I'm not going to die. None of us are, not yet._

What did Murtagh want? Her? Why was he so determined? Sure, she had insulted him, but he didn't seem the kind to pursue revenge for that. But why then? What was the reason? What did he _want_?

_For the king,_ she thought. _He's a Rider. Loyalty, obeying orders? But why would the king want me?_

She rubbed her forehead and groaned. There was a piece missing, and she had the distinct feeling that it would stay missing for quite a while. _Maybe he's just acting on orders...orders to capture and destroy Peregrine. I mean, he'd probably care enough for that._

_And the Peregrine and his guardian…but that's surely the more important of the two, why isn't he off doing that? Why is he pursuing the remnants of this broken little group? Peregrine is the head, you chop off the head and you kill the body. So why is he chasing Sílica? Why is he chasing me? Unless the king doesn't know? But that's ridiculous. If I know, surely somebody like Talinia—Tria—would know. _A pang shot through her heart, and she shoved it away. Through her, Reynold had known and she had—

No. _Stop mooning over him_, she told herself fiercely. _Survive first, then mourn later_.

A soft rustle brought Salem out of her thoughts. "Salem?" Ides said. "Are you all right?"

She shook her head. "Eh? Oh…yes, just thinking. Sorry."

Matiel laughed bitterly. "Which is more than some people are doing," he spat. "Look, this is a mess. What do we do now? Go charging after Liane? Or do we hide in this sewer and wait for Galbatorix's dogs to hunt us down?"

"We can't leave Liane in the Rider's hands," Ides said slowly.

"So, how do we go about saving her? If it can be done at all?" Matiel barked.

"You don't need to be such a sourpuss, Matiel," Gen said, raising an eyebrow. "We're all trapped in this mess together."

Matiel's mouth tightened into a thin line, but he nodded. Ides watched him for a moment longer, then sighed. "I don't know," he said finally. "Jacob was always the one pulling the knots together…then, when he died, it was Tria."

"Well, now it's you," Rina murmured. "By order of the magickers and all."

He gave her a sad smile. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Rina. But no."

"Well, what do we do then?" Rina shouted, her self-control breaking. "Just sit around? We can't just leave her—"

"Look, we're breaking into hysterics," Gen said firmly. "This isn't going to help anybody. Let's just take this logically, all right? Ides. We can probably scrape together at least four silver crowns worth of random items. Three or four, anyhow. What'll that get us with the smugglers?"

Ides closed his eyes, calculating. "If we stay out of their way—a night's lodging and protection."

"Where're you going to get three silver crowns?" Matiel demanded. "Last time I checked, we had four copper crowns in the bag, and unless I've completely lost hold of my senses, it takes ten copper crowns to make a single silver crown."

"Oh, ye of little faith," Gen said reproachfully, then laughed. "Don't worry about that."

"You're going to steal," Matiel said sharply.

Gen's amused gaze faded, sharpening into one of acute attention. "Would you rather have us die?" he asked quietly.

Matiel held his gaze for a while more, then dropped. "Don't take it from people who can't afford it, Eugenides. It's—it's sick."

Gen—Eugenides—nodded. "I know. I won't ever drop that far, Matiel." He swallowed, then looked away, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

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Murtagh rose from his position at the woman's side. He brushed away her dark hair from her face, gazing down at the face. Her face was frozen in an expression of pain—deep, gut-wrenching accusing pain.

He sighed and tucked the blade back into his boot. _Well, good job,_ he thought to himself. _You've killed a woman because of your manly macho-ness in your inability to aim for a nonlethal blow, and you haven't gotten an inch closer to finding Salem. Congratulations, you deserve a hearty pat on the back._

He smiled lightly. He was seriously starting to think like Thorn. He could almost hear the dragon's sarcastic comments, making him roll his eyes and laugh even at the worse of times.

Murtagh swallowed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. There wasn't any time to get all sentimental. Not now.

He leaned against the wall, closing his eyes and casting out with his mind for shielded presences once more. They were nowhere in the nearby vicinity—he went out wider, straining his mental capacity to scan so many minds.

His bad leg wobbled under him, then collapsed. Murtagh gave a startled grunt as he fell to the ground, rolling to break his fall. His head spun—no, he had definitely overtaxed his abilities in seeking out such a large area.

_Well. One step at a time, then_.

It was just going to take longer, that was all.

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Thorn hovered, listening with grim satisfaction to the conversation between the Twins and Galbatorix. _We did not know, your majesty,_ the Twins cried. _The dragon! He gave us false information!_

The emperor's voice was cold and vicious. _I highly doubt that,_ he said dangerously. _Considering that I took the information from the dragon's mind and gave it to you…do you doubt my word, then? _His voice lashed out, burning the Twins with a cruel fire.

_No! Please, your majesty, no! _Thorn could imagine the Twins on the ground, squirming as Galbatorix reached out with his mental power to skewer them like bugs on a stick. He grinned savagely at the image.

The mental screams (or was it just one? Thorn wasn't too sure) cracked, escalating to a terrible cry of pain. The mental grip twisted one last time, then slowly released its suffocating hold. The scream flickered, fading slowly.

Galbatorix's voice emerged again, deadly calm. _So. You have failed me. _

_We tried, majesty—_The Twins' voices were broken, weak, sputtering. _We tried! We couldn't find them!_

_Did you try searching mentally, you idiots? What use are you?_

_Yes! We did!_ The voices were weaker. _Do not punish us—we couldn't find them—_

_Stop whining,_ Galbatorix ordered. _Dragon!_

Thorn's heart skipped a beat, and he nearly dropped out of the air, pulling himself up just in time. _Um, yes, _he answered cautiously. _Yes, majesty?_

_Get back here. Now._

Thorn hissed sharply as the force of the order caught him, invoked by the bindings of his true name. He was thrown forward, flying helplessly back towards the palace. Galbatorix's attention wrenched sharply away, severing all contact to and from the dragon.

Thorn flew on, more alone than ever.

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_End of Chapter Twenty-three_

Okay. Several very big, very major things have happened in this chapter. I couldn't resist the Twin-torture thing, the little snotheads deserve it!

But besides that. Since the last section is from Thorn's POV and Galbatorix cuts off the dragon before giving final orders, then you don't get to know from the story view that Galbatorix will deliver some very important orders to everybody. Next chapter, I'll put in something from Connac's view, so you can know some of those orders.

I take a name here, Eugenides, that isn't strictly mine. If any of you have ever read _The Thief_ or any of its sequels by Megan Whalen Turner, Eugenides is the main character, the…uh…well, the thief. I love that name. I honestly do. I love Eugenides too, and I've plotted Gen (my Gen) after him.

The Twins failed to find Martaila and Neal, which is why Galbatorix is so ticked off. Where are they? Oh, you'll see.

Murtagh will find Salem…someday. Seriously, the Salem/Murtagh romance is coming…seriously. Yeah.

The pace of this story is going to speed up, and some of the nefarious plans of the Plot shall be revealed very soon. evil laugh No, honestly, I'm looking really forward to tearing the veil off this story and telling everybody what's really under all the action.


	24. Chapter 24

Reviewsssssssssss!

**Its.Garnet.Time**: It must be magic. Hmm. Oh, and my ego got so inflated that it exploded into a thousand tiny pieces. I am still looking for them and the job is completely ruining my eyesight. O.o.

**I Elenial I**: Maybe…mwahaaha. Actually, I really hate to give stuff away, but this story is beginning to progress into the beginning of the end. I think at most five or six chappies until the climax, then…_the Burning Plains. _**DUN DUN DUN.**

Hey, I heard from somewhere that the third movie's out! I'd like to see it this weekend but I'm busy debating—_baseball game or X-men movie?_ Choices, choices.

**Silver sliver**: Thorn will definitely be less then happy _if he knows_. But what he doesn't know won't hurt him! (you may take that statement however you wish) I wish I could torture those evil Twins some more, but I need a reason…otherwise this story would be random and insane.

**Mistress-of-Misery**: No, actually it had another. _The King of Attolia_. I'm so mad because I live in Taiwan and you can't exactly get books quickly here. I ordered the book through the only English bookstore in this place _three months ago_ and I'm still tapping my toes waiting for it to arrive. Arrrgh!

**Gewher:** Wow, thanks! Yeah, I probably should reread _Eragon…_I've made a few stupid mistakes in this story (not going to point them out though) that would've been avoided if I reread the books. Too late to change them now :(

**Ariel32**: It's coming! The romance will come, someday, somewhen, somewhere, somehow. It's just going really really REALLY slowly.

And oh my! You live in Taiwan too! I'm so happy somebody lives in this island that I vaguely know :0

**Miss Pierre Bouvier**: Yeah! There better be some Thorn in the third book or I'm going to give CP a piece of my mind. I hope he's not twisted and evil or anything…but I like my Thorn best :)

**Emerald Tiara**: Why, thank you. But you know, I hate to give things away…it's just that I can't wait to see you guys responses when I finally reveal the BIG BAD TRUTH at the end (we're getting there…slowly.)

Jacob is Heii, by the way. In case you've forgotten.

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_4/3/101_

Nobody paid any attention to the beggars as they scurried through the dirty streets, mangy rags over their heads. They blended in perfectly with the grim scenery, everything from their poor clothing to the layers of dirt on their bodies.

The tallest of the three ducked into a shadowy alley, motioning for the others to follow. They slipped forward, pausing in front of a shattered door. Through the broken wood, they could see a body.

They traded grim looks, then stepped inside.

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"We'd better head back," Ides murmured, breaking the awkward silence. "Just in case. I'll try to keep some kind of shield going…actually, no I won't." He sighed. "I can't make a daisy bloom now, let alone spin an invisibility shield or anything like that."

"More's the pity," Matiel muttered. "We'll be stuck like dead rats on a stick."

"Those taste good," Gen commented to nobody before clambering up a slimy ladder into the open air.

They emerged into a relatively wide street and brushed the worst of the muck off their clothes. "Best thing of living in the slums," Gen said conversationally, "is that a person rising out of a sewer is as common as spitting."

Salem raised an eyebrow in skepticism. "I see."

"It's very common, actually," Ides murmured. "People spit so much I'm half-surprised this place isn't flooded. Where are we?"

"Chirea's Bend," Rina said quietly. "There's that disgusting tavern over there, Greenwort or whatever." She shook her head in disgust. "The owner of that place is as bad as Galbatorix," she said softly but viciously. "He'll ride the whores and rape the decent, all in one night."

Salem bit her lip and looked away as Ides quietly changed the subject. Rape, even under Galbatorix's reign, was a crime punishable in the most severe cases by death. But the laws were so far away from this place, and there was nobody to enforce them. Once more, Salem got the uneasy sense that this was not her place, not her territory. It belonged to the people surrounding her, members of Sílica who had survived for longer and through much more than some stupid palace servant. Sílica who knew the slums and its people.

They took a roundabout route, doubling back often into the maze of streets lining the dark side of Uru'baen to insure they were not being followed. Ides did mental checks twice, searching for the mind of the Rider. He was nowhere to be found, and they fervently hoped he was gone for good. And that Liane was alive.

Rina's face was pale, her knuckles white and bloodless. "She's alive," she muttered, though with less and less conviction.

None of them had the heart to contradict her.

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Martaila straightened with a tired sigh, kneeling by the body. "I don't recognize her, not that that means anything," she told Neal. "But this was the safe house. The last safe house, and if it's broken, gods know what that means."

Neal paced around the house, frowning. "So they're gone? Is that it?"

Martaila didn't answer for the longest time. Finally, she said slowly, "This operation—Sílica—was the result of years of work. And I just can't bring myself to believe that the death of a single person would send it all crashing down. Surely they'd know better than to invest it all in Jacob, so that if he were gone, everything would be undone."

"Maybe they'd thought he'd survive," Neal offered quietly. "Maybe he was the strongest."

Martaila gave an unladylike snort. "Believe me, Nealan, if you knew Jacob you wouldn't say that. He was a good magicker, I've give you that, but he was arrogant as Galbatorix and twice as rash. He was always playing on the fringe of danger—yes, I suppose that's what killed him. But I knew Tria and the other ringleaders, and they knew Jacob as well. They knew his idiocy."

"Tria…oh, Talinia. Her. Didn't you say she was half in love with Jacob?" Neal inquired, eyebrow raised.

"Yes, but Tria's got above all a good head on her shoulders. Maybe she needs a lesson in ethics, but she knows how to survive. If I knew her, she would've put something away."

"She's dead," Neal said. "If there was anything, it's gone now."

"True." Martaila rose, dusting off her hands. "Where's Reya?"

"Here, my lady," a timid voice squeaked from an inner room. "Is the body gone?"

Martaila held back an exasperated sigh. "No, it's not. But we're ready to leave, Reya."

The maid emerged, looking distinctly ruffled and unhappy. She squeaked at the sight of the dead woman's body, clutching her arms closer to herself. Neal ignored her, glancing at Martaila with a frown. "Marta," he said slowly, "Where exactly are we planning to go?"

Martaila sighed. "I don't know, Nealan," she said quietly. "I seem to remember the outlines of a plan, to hide with the Pirean smugglers—"

"Ah-ha! So you _do_ know them!" Neal said triumphantly. "I was wondering who that ugly fellow was. The one that came one or twice a year."

Martaila gave him an icy glare. "This is no time to be frivolous, Neal. As I was _saying_, that seems to have been the plan. But I'm afraid I don't know much more than that, or what we will do once we get there."

"Simple enough," Neal said, all trace of casualness gone from his face. "We leave this rat-cursed city, and we don't come back."

Martaila glanced at him, startled. "It's not that simple, Neal."

"Oh?" he challenged. "And there is something left here? Sílica can rearise like a phoenix from dust?"

She didn't have an answer. Finally, Martaila said quietly, "Let's talk about the smugglers first. Maybe we'll think of something."

Neal stood his ground, jaw sticking out stubbornly. "We can just leave through that hole I found," he snapped. "Why all this fuss and trouble? We came in that way, and let's get out that way."

"Do you plan to leave the city with nothing more than the clothes on our backs?" she snapped. "We can't just snap our fingers and leave; we have to plan—"

Reya gave out a tiny squeak and tugged Martaila's sleeve. "My lady, there are people coming!" she whispered in a breathless voice.

"No time for discussion," Martaila said, meeting Neal's gaze squarely.

He stared back, then nodded, his gaze breaking away in anything but submission. "Later."

They drew their rags back over their heads, rubbing the dirt and mud deeper into the skin. Opening the front door a crack, they walked out.

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Connac rested one hand against the wooden post, gazing out over the woodlands that surrounded Uru'baen. It was in times like these that he loved the city, felt proud that he was a captain of the Royal Army. This was what he was fighting for and defending—Uru'baen, every side and aspect of her, from the shopkeepers to the dancers to the emperor himself—the people. The life. For good or worse, he was bound to them and they to him.

He sighed and turned away. He'd agonized for a long time whether allowing that Rider to go after his sister was advisable, but he'd had no choice. _Or did he?_ a nagging voice kept on asking. But what was done was done, and worrying over it didn't do anybody any good.

He stepped down the hallway, his mind aimlessly turning things over, barely noticing as he stumbled into another man. "Captain Blackfire!" a familiar, husky voice purred. "Do watch your step."

"Darl," Connac said, looking up and noticing the scroll in the messenger's hand. It was marked with the black seal, the sign of a royal order. "Who's it for?" he asked.

"Captain Fryling," Darl said, naming the other captain stationed at the garrison. "And of course, you."

"Me."

"Certainly." Darl delicately chose a scroll, handing it to Connac. He cracked the seal and read it, frowning as he looked up to meet Darl's amused eyes.

"I'm to be replaced?"

"Our gracious emperor does like to rotate troops," Darl said calmly. "Fryling will take over your post as the senior officer, and a new company under Captain Kretz will move in to take your place." He tapped the scroll lightly and smiled. It didn't fit too well on his face. "I wish you luck in the city."

He left down the hall, a suspiciously light spring in his step. Connac stared after him, then back at the scroll. The orders were explicit here—he was to rotate into the city, taking his men into the city patrol. It wasn't bad, just—unexpected. It was a different assignment at a strange time, for while companies did rotate, they did so on a regular basis. If he was to change posts, then surely Fryling's companies would've changed as well.

Connac hesitated, rereading it. As a city patrol, he would be responsible for law and order within Uru'baen. That meant chasing down criminals…and that meant chasing down Salem.

Maybe he was just being suspicious, but Connac just couldn't help but get the feeling that Galbatorix knew his relation to the criminal Salem Blackfire.

And who knew what he planned to do with the information?

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"It's safe," Ides muttered softly, staring blindly at the remains of the back door. "There were a couple people inside it, but they've left."

"So looters have already come," Rina hissed, hurtling into the house. The others followed her in, halting behind her.

"Rina?" Salem asked cautiously. "Is everything all right?"

Rina gave a choked gasp, moving aside to reveal a body on the ground. Ides dropped lightly to his knees, brushing aside the dead woman's hair. "Liane," he said softly. "She's dead."

Rina touched Liane's fingers and the drying blood around her wound. "She's not been dead long," she whispered softly. "Poor, poor Liane…she died for us, Ides. So that we could get away."

"A warrior's death," Ides said quietly.

"But at the end, you're still dead," Matiel growled.

"Better to die this way than as a cowering rat," Gen said, shooting Matiel a nasty look. "She loved you, Rina," he said, turning to the sobbing woman. "You were a sister to her, and she died for you. Honor her by surviving. By living. By kicking Galbatorix's ass."

Rina let out a crooked laugh, then sighed. "Yes, you're right," she said, her voice soft and broken.

She didn't let go of Liane's fingers.

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Murtagh tilted his head back, watching the clouds gather over the sky. It was going to rain soon, he could feel it.

He grimaced and ran his fingers through his hair, feeling distinctly hot and sticky in his leather armor. He had a vague, pulsing headache from so much mental straining, and his leg was beginning to ache dully. Maybe he could heal it properly, but it would take more energy and focus than what he had right now.

He hesitated. Galbatorix had told him to find Salem—he just hadn't specifically said when. A quick rest wouldn't hurt. Murtagh hesitated, then picked the least shady tavern he could find.

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_End of Chapter Twenty-four_

Next chapter will have them…oh, I don't want to give it away. I'll leave you to sweat in peace.

Okay, I've been a bit hesitant about giving out information not in a story context, but _some_ people have been going on about confusion for quite a while. So here we go.

Sílica and Peregrine mean same things in different languages, but in this story they are quite different. Peregrine is code name for a person: Neal. Sílica is the name for a _group_, the remnants of which Ides, Gen, Matiel, Rina, and Salem came out of.

The center of Sílica is Peregrine, so the center of this group is Neal. Now, I'm not going to tell you what exactly Sílica's objective is, but couple it with the fact that Neal is Brom's son. See if you can figure it out.

(now is the time of revelation…when we find if we have any insane Harry Potter fans in here. by that I mean people who figure out the book ten chapters in advance.)

(yes, such people actually exist. I knew a person whose sister just about wrote a novel and figured out who the half-blood prince was about halfway into the book. weird, but hey, whatever's your cup of tea)

Anyway, just little twiddly things you might like to know. In the climax chapter (which seems to be _very_ far away), I'll lay it out in detail. But that's then. This is now.

And in the first section—the beggars are Neal, Martaila, and Reya. In case you didn't know.

Can't say this was a long chapter. But it's important.

4/3/101 is turning out to be quite an eventful day. I think the last eight chapters or so have been on this day.


	25. Chapter 25

**MUAHAHA! MUAHAHAHAA! MUAAAAAAHAA—**you get the idea, don't you?

**I Elenial I**: giggles insanely The reason I am so closed mouth is because I can't wait to see your responses when I unveil the EVIL TRUTH. Which is very close; I think no more than one or two chapters until the first blow hits.

**Mrs Pierre Bouvier**: grins Yeah, I love that line too. I've kind of cast all the characters into certain stereotypes, and Gen just happens to be my casual humorist.

**Its.Garnet.Time**: What do you think about Garrett Fryling? I mean, I can't post a female captain because the characters from _Eragon_ are set into a kind of muscle-man/whimpering-woman kind of role. But the first name can be yours to invent because I'm sooooo nice :)

**Mistress-of-Misery:** mysterious wink Oh, I need the romance. It's important for what happens later…anyhoo, THE BOOK CAME! does victory dance After three months, it took long enough! I read until midnight trying to finish it, but I do love it. It's a little confusing though.

**Emerald Tiara**: Hmph! Piffle to you!

But seriously, yeah, I know it's confusing. It's thick, anyhow. When this story winds up, I'm going to post as the last chapter an explainer chapter that lays out this whole story in detail. I hope, anyhow. This story is going to reach climax point very very VERY soon.

**Gewher**: Ooh, wait till you see the next chapter. Salem/Murtagh begins then; I've already got it about halfway finished so I should know! And I know, a week sucks to wait, but if I updated every day the story would have sentences along the line of—"Galbatorix was unhappy. Thorn was scared. Galbatorix decapitated everybody"—stuff like that.

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_4/3/101_

Ides gently pried Rina's fingers from Liane's. "She's gone," he said gently.

Rina seemed numb, not responding to his touch. Ides gave a pleading glance to Gen, who came over, whispering something into her ear. Rina blinked rapidly, twice, then let out a shaky breath. "I guess so," she said softly.

She stood unsteadily, staring off into empty space. Ides hesitated, then said quietly, "Gen?"

He looked up. "Yes?"

"I think we should go to the smugglers now," Ides said. "That means you need to get the needed coin."

Gen pulled a face. "I suppose. It'll take a couple hours, so don't hold your breath." He cast a wry glance at Matiel, then continued, "I'll have to move into richer parts of the city—"

"Don't have to," Rina said hoarsely. "Take it from that bastard who runs Greenwort. I know where he keeps his coin." She shook her head slowly. "I don't approve of stealing," she said directly, "but sometimes people deserve it."

"Interesting philosophy," Matiel muttered, getting himself a dark look from Ides. He sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. "All right, I'm being a prick, and I apologize. Rina? Where does he keep it?"

"In—" she waved her hands vaguely, searching for an answer. Finally, she said, "In his privy pot. There's a hidden chamber underneath, and an oiled blanket wrapped around his treasure to prevent it from getting the stink." She pulled a face, a wanly mischievous smile coming to her face. "Don't ask how I know."

Gen let out a sputtering cough. "Well, I won't," he said, grinning broadly. "But I'll go get it. Shouldn't take me more than a couple hours." He stretched languidly like a cat, unconscious grace in his form. "Will you stay here?"

Ides laid his hand on Gen's shoulder. "I don't like sending you to do this alone, Gen," he said quietly. "What if you are discovered?"

Gen shrugged. "I'm a thief, Ides. I might be a little out of practice, but—"

"Hubris," Matiel interrupted.

"Arrogance," Ides said softly. "Gen, it's not like I don't have faith in you. But we can't afford to lose you—we can't afford to lose anyone. Please. Let me help you. Let _us_ help you."

Gen looked at Ides for a long time, finally nodding with a rueful smile. His eyes flicked to Ides's missing right hand, and he nodded again. "I understand."

"We'll be waiting outside, as backup," Ides said. "Posted at different areas." He hesitated, then added, "maybe a bit apart. Just in case."

They didn't have to ask what exactly the "just in case" was.

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Murtagh fingered the handle of his mug idly, feeling a dull headache pounding at his temples. He'd ordered the least noxious brew he could find, but the taste of it left a gritty substance on his tongue.

He closed his eyes, reaching once more for Thorn. There was a slippery wall that blocked him off from the dragon, and it was infuriating him. Strange, how he now _wanted_ somebody in his mind. He'd always been so fervent of privacy.

A shove on his shoulder woke him to his senses. Murtagh didn't open his eyes at first, a foul reek breathing into his nose. He sighed inwardly and looked. As he'd expected, it was some brawny thug, fat and muscle mixing to form a bull of a man.

"You," he said, his breath stinking of beer and tobacco, "get out of my seat."

Murtagh ignored him, appearing to stay perfectly nonchalant. On the inside, he was slipping into a core of focus, preparing for a fight. "Or else?" he asked.

The thug gripped his sleeve, shoving his face close. "Or I'll beat you up, stick-man."

_My new nickname_, Murtagh thought with a sigh. "Let me go," he said quietly, his voice calm and certain. "You will regret it if you don't."

He'd warned the thug. Whatever happened to the idiot after that was his own business.

The idiot didn't get the idea. "You threatening me, stick-man?" he roared. "I'll teach you!" he cried, shaking Murtagh like a dog.

The bar had gone quiet, eyes watching this latest little spat. Murtagh processed this new piece of information in an instant, also taking in the fact that the brute was drunk. It was a pity, really. Murtagh put one hand on the counter for leverage and kicked the man squarely. The man backed away with a howl, gripping a rather tender part. "You little—" he spat, lunging forward.

Murtagh ducked his outstretched arms, letting the man's own momentum send him sprawling over a stool. He lay on the floor, heavily winded, then threw up. There was a murmur of disgust from the surrounding watchers, then eyes swiveled to face Murtagh.

Murtagh stared down at the fallen man, feeling sick and empty. It hadn't been a fight of any sort. It was pointless and stupid, and nothing true had been accomplished. All of a sudden, he wanted to get out of the tavern. Now.

He shoved his way past the onlookers and stalked out the door.

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Gen stared up at the top floor of Greenwort's Tavern, sizing it up. He hesitated, then glanced around him. There were the others, waiting in the shadows. All he had to do was yell.

Right. Simple. Despite himself, he felt a little nervous. No matter what he'd said to Matiel, he _was_ slightly out of practice. He set his hands on the stone—nice, bumpy stone with lots of handholds—and began to climb.

It was a quick, short climb, and Gen felt his confidence come back with every foot gained. He'd given up thieving a while before he'd met him, but the old ways were returning to him easily. Reaching the tiny window, he pushed aside the oil-paper shutter and squeezed in, landing with an inaudible thump.

_Now,_ he thought, _where does a man keep his privy pot?_

That was a simple question, right? Under the bed, if he had any sense. Careful to keep to the shadows, Gen bent down, groping under the bed. His hand struck something hard; he traced its outline. It was vaguely circular, and curved inward. Gen hastily withdrew his hand from the indentation and pulled it out, grinning.

The thing had a false bottom—well made, to be sure, but to his practiced eye there was a tiny hairline crack. He ran his fingers upon it, searching for the catch—

"Don't move," a thick voice snarled into his ear. "I'll gut you like a dog."

Gen froze, feeling the cold metal of a knife on his neck. The man's other hand tore the privy pot away, dropping it. "Get up," he snapped, pulling Gen up. "Don't make a single sound."

"Will you kill me?" Gen inquired softly, standing slowly.

There was a soft hiss of laughter. "Maybe, _thief_," the man said contemptuously, shoving Gen to the floor. "I'll kill you, and leave your corpse for the dogs."

Gen's eyes flicked from the man to the window. The man, the infamous owner of Greenwort's and the rapist, grinned mercilessly, moving to block it. "There isn't any way out," he said softly. "No way except through me."

Gen gave the man his best, most meaningless smile. "Perhaps a negotiation could be arranged," he said pleasantly.

The man snickered, moving closer. "What kind, gutter scum? I've got time to kill." He guffawed at his own wit.

Gen hesitated, playing for time, examining the layout of the room carefully. There was a single window, which the lump of a man was currently blocking. There was a tiny bed in a corner, and the door was to the opposite side. His best hope lay in the door—if the man had been able to slip so quietly inside, it must be unlocked. He hoped, anyhow.

Or…maybe he could—

He decided against it, turning his thoughts back to the door. The window wasn't closed; all he needed to do was to draw the man away then jump like hell. He'd made bigger jumps before. He might twist an ankle, but that was infinitely preferable to getting gutted on the edge of a knife.

"This kind," he said in answer to the man's question, then leapt for the door.

To his ultimate relief, it was unlocked. The man gave a yell then lunged forward, knife flashing menacingly. With a yelp, Gen dropped, rolled, barely avoiding the sharp edge, jumped onto the bed and scrambled over the bedpost. He had one foot on the windowsill when he hesitated, glancing back at the privy pot.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man lunge. He dodged out of the way, cursing—his hesitation had cost him his best chance to escape. _Stupid!_ The man wrenched the blade free of the oil-paper, his eyes sparking with fury. "You won't get out," he snapped. "Don't try the door. You won't get ten feet."

There were shadows hanging just outside, no doubt the man's cronies. They blocked the door, the owner of Greenwort's blocked the window. He was well and truly trapped.

He had no choice, really.

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Ides paced outside, tight with worry. He'd seen a foot appear on the windowsill, then vanish. _How long does it take to steal a privy pot?_ he wondered, biting his lip. He stared up at the afternoon sun. _Orcane,_ he prayed to the god of justice and war, _don't let Gen get hurt again. _

He loved Gen. More than a brother, more than a friend, more than anything. Gen had saved him two years ago when he had almost died, and had nursed him back to health without asking for repayment. Ides's stomach clenched as he thought back, to those days when he had been burning with fever and too disoriented to know air from ground. To those days when his hand had first been cut off and the bleeding seemed too thick to stop.

He glanced at his missing right hand, then looked back to the window. It was taking far too long.

"Does he usually take this long?" a voice wondered. Ides glanced at the speaker—it was the girl, Salem. Salem…Blackfire. That was it. He'd touched her mind before, if only briefly, and had rapidly withdrawn at the turmoil of emotions within.

"No," he said softly. "That's why I'm worried. You should go back to your post."

"I got bored," she answered. "It's not too far off, anyway."

"I know." Ides glanced back up at the window, then sighed. "I don't know, actually. Where's Matiel and Rina?"

"Still where they're supposed to be, I guess." She hesitated. "You seem rather worried."

"I am." Ides closed his eyes, touching for Gen's mind. It was still there, strong, but—there was another mind near his. Ides swore softly. _Don't let him die,_ he thought at Orcane once more.

"He seemed the hardy sort," Salem remarked absently. "I'll go after him, though."

He glanced at her, startled. Had he been speaking aloud…well, obviously, if she answered. "That's kind of you," he murmured, calculating his strength. Maybe he could whisk Gen out or something. Maybe—maybe—

Controlling the man's mind would be difficult, not impossible—but it was sick. He couldn't! Breaking into another's mind was the utmost violation of privacy, the act of gutter scum. Even to save Gen's life—Ides swallowed, closing his eyes.

He would do anything to save Gen's life.

He breached the man's mind, taking over, filtering into his thoughts. The man fought, outraged, his yells tearing at Ides. Grimly, he pushed onward, shifting slowly to fit into the man's vision and his body and—

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Salem saw the whole thing as if in slow motion. The pot came out first, followed by Gen, leaping out the window in an ungainly sprawl. She ran forward, seeing Gen about to break his bones, and slammed hard into the ground, having broken the worst of Gen's fall.

He rolled off her and lay on the ground, winded, tilting his head to look at her with a mischievous grin. "I suppose you've saved me. The way that jump was going, I'd've landed on my head."

Salem staggered to her feet, rubbing her side. "Owwww," she muttered. "You're _heavy_."

"Not at all," he said, unperturbed, grinning impishly at her from the ground. He pushed himself to his elbows, his smile fading at he glanced at Ides. In a heartbeat, he had jumped up and was sprinting to Ides's side.

Ides's eyes were closed, his face pale, his breathing weak and shallow. Gen gave Salem a worried look. "How long has he been like this?"

Salem looked, hesitating. "What's wrong with him?"

"That's what I would like to know," Gen muttered, shaking Ides. The magicker didn't respond. "Ides! _Ides!_"

His shout alerted the others; they came running. "Gen!" Rina said. "You made—what happened to Ides?"

Gen raised his hand and slapped Ides across the face, sending him sprawling. "Ides!"

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Ides was disconnected, hovering precariously between two worlds, two minds. He was partially aware of himself, but was sinking deeper into the owner of Greenwort's tavern, taking further control.

It was harder than he'd expected, and slower. Slow enough that the man was aware of a new alien presence in his mind, fighting viciously against the assault. He hadn't been trained in the ways of mental defenses, but what he lacked in skill he made up in pure force. "Gurt—noer—achk!" he screamed, thrashing as he fought with Ides for control of his limbs.

The two of them, in their joint mind, were aware of men by the door rushing to help their master. Their fingers clenched the handle of the knife, waving it precariously. Their eyes opened, and Ides looked through them, searching for Gen.

It was becoming easier. He was sinking into the man's mind, taking easier control. _Becoming_ him.

"_Ides!"_

Ides hesitated at the voice. It seemed oddly disjointed somehow, far away. There was a pain in his face, now, but that too seemed distant.

"_Ides, you stupid son of a bitch, wake up!"_

He recognized that voice, but vaguely. Ides? He didn't know any Ides…he was Samker Effiwin, master of Greenwort's Tavern. He had other worries to attend to than some stupid voice—there was a second, closer voice in his mind, and it was a struggle to breathe. He turned his attention away and back to the scroll on the floor, struggling to remember what he was doing—

The cry came again, repeating that one name—_Ides_.

A dim memory struggled to the surface. Ides/Samker grabbed it like a lifeline, pulling himself slowly free of this dying body, the body of the true, individual Samker.

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Gen watched as Ides's eyes opened slowly, muzzy and unfocused, looking at them without seeming to see them. His hand clenched and unclenched slowly, and his breathing was irregular. Gen knelt at his friend's side, shaking him fiercely. "Ides, you idiot!"

Ides jerked, coughing hard. His breathing stabilized, and slowly he levered himself to his knees. "Gen?" he said softly, his voice hoarse.

"Yes," the thief said. "What—what in Orcane's name were you doing, Ides?"

"Looking for you," Ides answered.

Gen hesitated, then pulled Ides close, embracing him. "Don't you do that again," he said into Ides's ear. "I thought you were dead."

"So did I," Ides whispered.

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Rina pulled Salem and Matiel away. "Have some courtesy, would you," she said mildly.

Salem glanced over her shoulder at them. "Are they—I don't know, lovers? They seem awfully close. Is there any relation?"

Rina gave her a somber glance. "I don't know about the lover part, but they love each other," she said quietly. "They are different things. Ides—he was the apprentice to a printer, a printer who was involved with us. Sílica. Somebody somewhere leaked the printer's name to Galbatorix, and he was caught and killed. Ides, the apprentice, had his hand cut off. I don't know if he was tortured, and I've never had the nerve to ask. Gen found him. Brought him back to health. Ides, following his master's footsteps, joined Sílica and brought Gen with him. I don't think there are any sexual relations between them, but they are closer than brothers."

A thoughtful silence followed this announcement. Finally, Salem said, "Oh."

"Very eloquent," Matiel grumbled.

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Murtagh's head jerked up as he heard the shouts. They were repeating one name over and over—_Ides_.

Where had he heard that before? Murtagh hesitated, searching his memory. When he found it, he hesitated. He had heard it in the ruins of the house, right before he killed that woman—it had been whispered, but the echoes of the building had brought it to his ear. _Ides _and _Rina_, those were the names.

He closed his eyes, summoning up his last scrap of energy and casting out for shielded minds. He found them easily—one, two, three, four, five. Three of them were overly familiar, and one of them was Salem's.

He got to his feet, a grim smile on his face as he followed the yells. The hunt was nearly over.

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_End of Chapter Twenty-Five_

So, what happened to Ides? All right. When Riders like Eragon take over peoples' minds, they're generally better practiced. Like when he took over the soldier's mind in the Burning Plains, to hack the rope thingy apart? I guess he had a way to divide his consciousness and not to sink completely in.

But Ides never had such practice. He's been taught that entering a person's mind is the ultimate violation, and has little or no experience in taking over people to control them, and just immersed himself too completely. It's like what Glaedr says to Saphira and Eragon—if your partner is dying, you should never try to take their consciousness into you. Two minds in one body is a violation, and the body will die. If Ides had stayed on in the owner of Greenwort Tavern, he/they would've died. Ides's original body also would have died, because a body without a mind is basically a vegetable. No offense.

Does that make sense? If not, well, just go with the flow.

And I know some people are touchy about the issue of homosexuality. Just to clear things up—Ides and Gen are **not** homosexual. The definition of a homosexual is a person who is sexually attracted to members of the same sex, and I want to make it very very very clear that they have not, and will never, have sex. If you have to classify them as something, think of them as blood brothers. That's not what they are, but their relationship can be defined as such.

Remember to review! The more reviews I get the longer and better the chapters tend to be :)


	26. Chapter 26

**Reviews! grins insanely**

**Its.Garnet.Time**: Well, in any case, Captain Fryling won't have much of a role for a bit, at least until the Burning Plains come. Hmm. But I did add a little Mikael Kretz here :) It really doesn't sound at all like the actual Michael, though, but hey, whatever.

**Ariel32**: Well, when you come back the story might actually be gasp _done_. **Dun dun dun!** Anyway, we'll see. I'll see you when you get back!

**Kana410**: Ooh, a new reviewer! squeals This is a REALLY long story so not too many new faces drop in these days. Keep on reviewing!

**Silver sliver**: Well, you got saved from a lot of cliffhangers because you came in late in the first place, so it's only right you get treated to one now. All's fair in love, war, and fanfiction writing…or something like that.

**Gewher**: I'd guess you really could call them brothers. Not lovers, most certainly, just…really close. Read and cherish while you can, because, well, next chapter is VERY turbulent.

**Emerald Tiara**: It's not like Murtagh goes around wearing a sign with 'I AM A RIDER' written all over it. How are they supposed to know? And besides, the idiot was drunk. Beer and common sense generally don't mix too well.

**Nicky377**: Yeah, this is a really short chapter so I was guilted into writing another one. At the time of typing of this response, it's still not done, but I'll try to finish it to post these two chapters at the same time. I hope, anyhow; writing inspiration has been really slow for me this week so we'll have to see.

**Mistress-of-Misery**: Oh, how could you suspect anything of little old me? blinks I'm hoping to round up this story in about six or seven more chapters, actually...I'll see how things go.

**Mrs Pierre Bouvier**: Yeah, I debated for a really really REALLY long time as whether to make Gen and Ides homosexual or not. I finally decided against it because I know a lot of people have varying opinions about the subject and I don't want to stomp on anyone's morals or whatever.

**Note to everybody (yes, that means you, 'note to everybody' is not a reviewer): **Uh…what was I going to say again? Oh…yeah…wait…huh. **I'm going to be splitting POV's for a bit, same as I did for Salem and Thorn/Murtagh on 4/2/101. So I'll tell Gen/Ides/Rina/Matiel's story first before switching to Salem/Murtagh. They take place at the same time.**

Anybody play Neopets? Yes? No? Well, anyway, **LET'S GO MARAQUA FOR THE ALTADOR CUP!**

(and if you know what I'm talking about, don't you dare play for Meridell)

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_4/3/101_

Gen pulled himself out of Ides's arms, smoothing down his friend's hair gently. "We should get going," he said quietly.

"Yes," Ides said, looking distant. He stood unsteadily, leaning heavily on Gen for balance. "I—what—"

"You okay, Ides?" Gen asked, overriding the other's stumbled words. "What happened?"

"I—I don't know," Ides stammered. "I think—"

He shook his head, rubbing his eyes, glancing at the direction of the privy pot. "So we have it."

"Quite."

"And—" Ides seemed lost. "Now what?"

Gen paused. "The smugglers, maybe—"

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The shouts stopped after a while, but Murtagh found the location quite easily. The streets here might be filthy, but at the very least the majority of them didn't echo confusingly, throwing off sounds.

There were voices just ahead. He paused behind a building, closing his eyes and listening. There was the name again, mentioned in a quiet conversation by two people who were extremely close to Murtagh's hiding place. He could reach out around the corner and touch them.

He did one last mental check, finding Salem easily. Drawing his sword, he stepped into view.

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Gen stared askance at the stranger who had stepped out behind the tavern; by contrast, Ides had gone pale. "That's a nice sword," Gen said mildly. "You must've paid quite a lot for it."

The man ignored them, his eyes looking past them to focus on—Ides twisted to look—Salem. "I don't want to hurt or kill any of you, but I will if you stop me," the man said quietly, taking a step towards Salem.

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Salem's eyes widened, and she felt herself torn between two instincts—one, run, and the other, fight. She did neither, saying instead in a very calm voice, "How long have you been searching?"

Murtagh shrugged lightly, his grip on the sword firm. "Long enough to get bored. You've been hiding quite well, Salem."

"You _know_ this man?" Gen asked cautiously. "Salem, what's going on?"

Rina interrupted both of them, standing forward with her fists clenched in fury. "You killed Liane," she snapped, her voice barely a whisper.

The Rider stopped. "Yes, if that was the woman's name." He gave Rina an unreadable glance, then turned back to Salem. "If you force me, Salem, none of us will like the result."

Salem swallowed, finding her voice. "I thought you liked killing. I thought you hated me."

Murtagh didn't answer, eyes steady on her face. "Your answer?"

"Salem," Ides said quietly, "what's going on?"

"Nothing," she snapped, fear and defiance mixing equally in her throat. She glared at the Rider. "Fine. If I don't come, you'll kill everybody off anyway and drag me off to your beloved emperor. He must be proud of having such an obedient _lapdog_." She spat out the words bitterly.

Murtagh's face was closed, blank. His right hand gripped the sword, and he held out his left.

She took it. It wasn't like she had a choice.

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The Rider pulled Salem away into the shadows, never letting go of his sword. There was silence among them as they watched, uncertain.

"Should we go after her?" Matiel said finally.

"Do we have a choice?" Ides asked slowly. "She knows as well as we what our plans our—"

"Doesn't know where the smugglers are," Matiel snapped. "Unless Galbatorix's lost his senses completely, he knows everything about us and Peregrine. Let's just go."

"And we'll leave her?" Ides asked, looking troubled. "Leave her to the dungeons and Orcane-knows-what to be tortured?"

"What can we do?" Gen said quietly. "He has a sword, Ides, and you're tired. None of us have so much as a needle on us, and no legal means will support us over the King's Rider himself." He tilted his head back, looking at the sky. "We don't have a choice."

Ides let out a frustrated sigh. "I still don't like it."

"It seems traitorous, almost," Rina added. "I mean, just because we don't really know her doesn't mean we can leave her to die and rot. She's one of us."

"'Us'?" Matiel barked, laughing humorlessly. "There is no 'us'. 'Us' is a group of ragtag idiots hanging around with a sword over 'us'es' heads. So let's just go.

"Maybe not in such crude terms," Gen said, shooting a dark look at Matiel, "but I have to say I agree. Ides, Rina, _there is nothing we can do_."

Slowly, they nodded. Finally, Ides said, "We may as well leave now." He spoke in a flat, expressionless voice, though his expression was pained.

"The smugglers," Rina agreed, soft-voiced.

Matiel walked over to the privy-pot, kicking it hard with the heel of his boot. It fell open to reveal an oil-paper wrapped bundle filled with crowns of gold, silver, and copper, and a few random tin pennies rolling around the very bottom. Gen whistled, impressed. "Very nice," he said approvingly. "I'd say there's anywhere around forty to sixty gold crowns in there, total."

"More than enough," Ides said wearily.

Gen gripped Ides's hand lightly, the gesture saying much more than words. "Let's go, Ides," he said gently.

Ides cast one last look at where Salem and the Rider had vanished. He swallowed, raking his fingers through his matted brown hair, his expression distracted. None of them interrupted his thoughts—despite anything Ides might have said, he was their leader. What he said, they would do.

"I suppose," Ides said finally, his voice hopeless and dull.

Gen hesitated at the painful look on Ides's face, then glanced at the others. Matiel met his gaze with a cynical sneer; Rina answered it with an ashamed expression of her own. Salem was not a friend, but despite all that, she was one of them—a refugee with them, an outlaw. And to abandon her to the Rider…no matter how you looked at it, it was cowardice.

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Connac led his troops into the city: Fourth Company, known more commonly as the Gaterunner Dogs among the army. They were a hundred men strong, or ten squads of ten men each, united firmly under the company banner, a silver eagle on a white field. "Well," he said, "at ease. You may as well get used to the city barracks, boys, it looks like we'll be staying here a while."

There was a soft murmur among the troops, then a voice called out, "Captain, is it true that the toilets actually are connected to sewers here?"

Connac grinned despite himself. "Well, it's but a rumor, Private Bilner, and you know how incredibly _wrong_ some rumors can be," he said, making his voice very dry. "Tell you what, I'll flush you and let's see where you come out."

"Oh, but that would ruin his looks," piped another voice. "And that lovely straw-blond hair of his."

Connac shook his head at the slight ripple of laughter, amused despite himself. Bilner's hair was a joke among Fourth Company, being long and silky at any given time despite army regulation haircuts. "Go on. Scat."

The men turned away. Connac watched them go, his heart near full with pride. These were his men—each of them he knew as well as he did himself, and each of them were loyal, good men. Every one of them had proved themselves under stress and battle, and would fight under the silver eagle to the death.

"Dreaming again, Captain?"

Connac turned slightly to see the familiar, dark-skinned face of Captain Mikael Kretz. They had been posted together a couple years ago when they were both lieutenants, serving under the same captain. "Captain Kretz," he said, inclining slightly into a bow. "I thought you were to be rotated?"

"Yes," he said cheerfully, "but the orders said by the end of the day, and some of my boys are still off chasing a robber or somesuch. I've got time."

Connac glanced at the afternoon sun. "Not more than a few hours."

Mikael shrugged. "I'd say Captain Fryling can handle the gate quite capably for that time. I don't see any invasions coming along, do you?"

Connac hesitated. "Well, it's usually two hundred strong there."

"And that's overkill, don't you think? You don't need two hundred men to protect a city from visitors and farmers and folk like that. Unless the Varden decides to poke out its head in that span of time, I don't think there's any cause for worry."

Connac spat derisively onto the ground at the mention of the Varden. Mikael nodded ruefully, sharing his sentiment. "Stirring up trouble," Connac said feelingly. "All these rebels—can't they see that what they're doing would only throw Alagaesia into anarchy?"

"I know," Mikael said, rolling his eyes. "Still, it keeps them occupied, and gods know we can crush Surda at any moment if they should prove too feisty."

There was a flurry of men near the opposite entrance of the barracks. Mikael tilted his head to watch the two squads of men enter, saluting. "Captain Kretz!" one of them panted. "We caught them, double tied, four of them at a hitch. One of them's wounded, but he'll survive. Should we have a healer see to him?"

Mikael stretched, nodding to Connac. "Good luck on this patrol, captain," he said wryly. "Duty calls." He called out an order to his men, following behind them as they left the open barracks.

Connac watched him go. _Good luck_. He sighed. With his sister mucking about with a bunch of misguided rebels, he would need all the luck in the world.

A light tap on the shoulder alerted him to his own duty. He turned slightly, glancing at the guard and the silver stripes on his collar. "Yes, Sergeant Chandler?"

Sergeant Evyn Chandler jerked a thumb over his shoulder in a very unprofessional way—but then, Connac didn't care much for formalities and all his men knew it. "There's a man at the gates," he said. "Says he's carrying an urgent message."

"Urgent message?" Connac frowned. "What do you mean?"

Chandler shook his head slowly. "I took a look at it—it's marked with the gray seal."

Connac's eyebrows shot up. There were four colors of seals that marked an important decree—black, for a direct order from the emperor, red, for the Forsworn (before they had all died), white, for the various nobles and gentry, and lastly gray, for the sect of shadowy, important folk. Gray seals were very rare and were to be reported to the emperor if seen. "Gray," he said, repeating the sergeant's words. "Take me to him, then."

The sergeant led him out into a narrow passageway, the gate looming ahead. Framed within it was a thick, squat man, astride on a horse. There was another soldier holding the reins of the horse with one hand and holding the scroll with another. He held the scroll out to Connac, who wordlessly took it.

There it was—the legendary gray seal. Connac frowned slightly—gray seals usually came from spies and folk like that—why would spies report to the city patrol? Unless…

"Sergeant Chandler," he said without looking up, "Send a messenger to the palace. Tell them that a gray seal has come." He looked up at the man upon the horse. "And you, sir—

"I'm just a messenger," the man said hurriedly, clutching the horse's mane. "I want my coin and I'll be out."

Connac frowned, taking a closer look at the scroll. _'…to give the man who bears this message eighty gold crowns…'_

"You'll get them," he said finally, looking up. "But you understand, you might have to wait a bit. Eighty gold crowns don't grow on trees. I'm sure you'd be much more comfortable on the ground." He nodded to the soldier. "Private, please show our guest to a decent waiting place."

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_End of Chapter Twenty-Six_

Take a deep breath here. Go read some other fanfics. Whatever. And don't forget to review! _Then_ go onto the next chapter because…well, anyway. I would've posted it next week, normally, but it's a VERY IMPORTANT CHAPTER. It starts when they (Sílica) find the smugglers because I didn't feel like writing their search and everything.

You might be a little miffed at Connac's reaction to the Varden, but remember that he's a captain of the army, and nobody gets to a position of command without having loyalties to Galbatorix. Connac is _proud_ of the city and his men. He won't give that up for anything. I feel kinda bad because—BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTTTTTTTTTTTT

staticky sounds

**The author's words have been eaten by the computer. We apologize for any inconvenience.**


	27. Chapter 27

**This extra chapter is dedicated to everybody who's ever reviewed, but especially to my regular reviewers! And also, be sure to read 26 first because this kind of ruins it if you read this first.**

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_4/3/101_

They froze, feeling cold steel touch their necks. Ides was the first to speak, his voice calm and controlled. "Pirean smugglers?"

"Yes," breathed a soft voice into his ear. "Don't move, Sílica. Who speaks for you?"

"I do," Ides said after a pause.

A hand groped around, pulling off Ides's blindfold. A sharp, grizzled face filled his vision, the knifeblade still at his neck. "What do you want?"

"We have the keywords and the coin, and we mean no harm to you or what you do," Ides said, meeting the man's eyes. "All we require is passage out of the city and shelter for the night."

The smuggler hesitated, eyes flicking to where Gen, Matiel, and Rina stood perfectly still, blindfolded and at the points of various knives. He jerked his head back to Ides. "One night?"

"And passage," Ides said quietly. "While Sílica and Pirean are not friends, nor are we enemies. We have need of your aid."

The man laughed, a harsh bark. "Sílica is no more, so don't play pretty talk with me. We'll give you shelter for the night. Stay out of our way and don't poke your nose where it doesn't belong, and no harm will come to you." He nodded to the others; they sheathed their knives. "You've got one room. Where's your coin?"

Gen looked down at the oilpaper-wrapped package in his hands, offering it to the man with a charming smile.

The man looked him over and snorted. Directing his gaze to the package, he slit it open, running fingers through the coins, counting them with the rapid skill of a black market trader. "It'll do," he said.

They were shown to a room, smelling faintly of mold, with a few lamps and a roll of blankets tucked neatly into a corner. The wooden door slammed shut with a heavy bang, leaving the only source of fresh air four small windows around the room. Rina and Matiel lay out the blankets in stony silence, putting a layer on top of the dirty floor.

"Well," Gen said with a forced attempt at cheerfulness, "It doesn't look too bad. Really."

Matiel shot him a dark look. "_Really?_" he said archly. "It took us four hours of aimless wandering to find this place, only to be blindfolded and threatened by a bunch of tough guys. Now we're stuck in this tiny room that might as well be a jail cell, with no promise of what will happen the next day. We've got no coin even if these smugglers do happen to be honest and toss us out of Uru'baen. We are definitely in trouble, so get your dreams out of your head."

He locked gazes with Gen, jaw jutting out defiantly. Ides and Rina looked from one man to another and traded a glance of their own. Finally, Ides said quietly, "Matiel. We know you were close to Serrion; you were best friends. But we all knew him, and we all liked him, and now we all mourn him. Please don't inflict your bad temper onto us."

Matiel's eyes flashed dangerously. "If you knew what he said—"

"That's enough!" Ides snapped, his voice gaining an edge of anger. "You've made nothing but sniping, cutting comments for hours now, not helping in any way. Either tell us what's wrong or—"

"I _am_ telling you!" Matiel shouted. "Just shut up, Ides, all right? You don't understand, you and your—"

"Shh!" Rina hissed, listening intently, one ear placed against the door.

The three men looked at her, startled, having almost forgotten she was there. Her voice carried a sharp tone of urgency as she listened by the door, her eyes half-slitted. "They're talking," she said distractedly. "Voices—_outside—"_

The door swung open, Rina jumping out of the way just in time. The burly smuggler from before stood them, his eyes hard. Behind him stood another man, his face partly in shadow, his expression hidden. The sword in his hand did not need any explaining, nor did the soldier's uniform he wore.

"You led them here?" the smuggler barked, pulling Ides forward. "You led the soldiers here?" He raised his hand, slapping Ides violently across the face, his expression screwed in rage. "_You_ _led the city patrol here?_"

"Enough!" the man in the shadows snapped, stepping forward. "You run an undoubtedly illegal operation—"

"Tell me," the smuggler spat, whirling around to point a finger at the soldier, "tell me why I shouldn't stick you full of arrows right where you stand."

The soldier looked around him, gray eyes taking in the scene—at least twelve men stood in the various little corners of the smugglers' cave, wielding very businesslike bows and swords. He dropped his gaze to meet the smuggler's eyes. "I see twelve men here," he said calmly. "I have at least five times that number outside. You may kill me, but understand that we are not here to destroy you or your little operation here. We are here for _them_." He gestured at Gen, Matiel, Rina, and Ides, the latter who had a red handprint across his face.

"Us?" Ides said, his voice barely a whisper.

"Will you come peaceably, or do we have to subdue you—"

"You!" Matiel cried, lunging forward. "Serrion told me, you traitor, you traitor—" he reached out, seeking to strangle—Gen.

"Matiel!" Ides shouted, lurching forward. "Matiel, stop!"

An arrow hissed through the air, burying itself deeply into Matiel's back. He fell away, blood streaking downwards, his breath coming in weak gasps. Gen dropped to his knees, touching the wound, blood staining his fingers. "You knew," he said softly, to the dying Matiel. "Serrion knew, and he told you."

"_What?"_ Rina whispered.

With a detached air, Gen stood, wiping the blood on his breeches. Turning to the soldier, he inclined his head slightly. "You can take us to the emperor."

Ides shook his head, grabbing Gen's arm. "Gen, what are you talking about? What's going on?"

"That's not my name, Ides," Gen said quietly.

"Eugenides, then, Eugenides Farrow—"

"No. Eugenides Farrow is dead." He looked up, meeting Ides's painful gaze. "I'm sorry, Ides."

Another man, a third man, had been waiting silently behind them. The soldier cleared his throat. "Sir, the emperor is here. He wished to meet you himself."

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Galbatorix stepped out, his elvish features standing out strikingly in the dim light. His eyes flicked around the smugglers. "Lower your weapons."

His voice carried the tone of undeniable authority. Slowly, the smugglers lowered them, eyes wary, their watchfulness tinged with fear.

The emperor stepped over to Gen, who had knelt. "Stand, Teleus," he said, his voice light and melodious. "After all, you've given me a wonderful gift today." There was a tinge of amusement. "The last of the Sílica. And how long it took to set this all."

Gen—no, Teleus—stood slowly, mud caking his knees, looking fixedly at the ground. Finally, he said, "I live to serve, your majesty."

"Yes," Galbatorix agreed. "You do."

He smiled and looked directly at Ides, who stood in a state of horrified shock. "Henrides, is it? Yes, Henrides Miyan. Teleus's little friend." Galbatorix shook his head, the look of perpetual amusement still on his face. "Here's a little advice for you, Henrides," he said conversationally. "In case you ever become emperor." He cocked his head. "Won't you like to know what it is?"

Ides's eyes moved slowly to Gen, who still wouldn't meet his gaze. His lips moved slightly, and his face was white with fear. Rina moved closer, an arm laying on his shoulder, eyes glaring at Galbatorix in hatred. "What games are you up to?" she snapped.

"Don't interrupt," Galbatorix said softly. "Don't you know that's rude?"

He flicked his finger in her direction. A powerful, invisible hand wrenched her up from the ground, slamming her bodily into the wall. She slid to the ground, blood trickling from her head, unconscious. Two soldiers in the shadows moved to carry her, tying her hands and feet together.

All through this, neither Ides nor Gen had moved a muscle.

"So, my friend Ides," Galbatorix continued smoothly, as if nothing had happened. "Would you like to know the little flaw in your organization? And—" he smiled congenially, tilting his head to one side. "My own flaw? The one that cost me so much time?"

He didn't wait for an answer, beginning to pace, his strides slow and measured.

"Everything about you was set up," Galbatorix said softly. "Your printer master was equipped with a suicide spell, and you yourself had only the faintest inklings of Sílica at the time. Do you think it was a coincidence that Teleus took you in? No. I don't like loose ends, Ides, I would've killed you any other time. But if there's anything I hate more than one loose end, it's a whole _pack_ of them. So I set Teleus up to be _just right there_ when we threw you from the palace."

He paused, then continued.

"When you healed and joined Sílica, you vouched so passionately for Teleus, thank you, that their magickers didn't even bother to search him. Your talent for magic helped bring you up in the organization, and you brought Teleus up with you. But see, here was my mistake. Through Teleus, I knew of Peregrine and all your little plans. But I couldn't get him. You, all of you, squared him away far too well, changing hiding places far too often for me to find you or them, placing all sorts of little fiddly wards. Teleus couldn't keep up with all the nitty-gritty, especially because he doesn't have a drop of magic. My mistake, I'll admit. If I'd picked someone different, undoubtedly it'd be done faster."

He sighed ponderously, black eyes lazily watching Ides. "So now we come to this. Teleus gave me the names of the top few; Jacob was taken first. Tria came next—" he laughed, a chilling sound. "She fought so wonderfully, but she gave up in the end. As did Jacob. I gave my Rider's dragon a little target practice on him, you know. Quite satisfying. And after that, you moved Peregrine to the woods, where supposedly they were safe. I sent a troop to capture them."

His eyes flickered. "Why don't you continue the little story here, Teleus?" he said. "You know it far better than I. After all, you were the one who had to deal with it."

Teleus/Gen didn't say anything. It was Ides who finally spoke, his voice soft and painful. "You killed Serrion, didn't you? He knew. You killed him. And that wound—that wound you had came from Serrion, when he tried to defend himself. And Matiel knew. _That_'s why he was so—angry. So bad tempered." He closed his eyes. "And Matiel—when he left for the woods, I'd wondered why he didn't come back with Peregrine. But it was because he knew _you_ were here, and bringing them back into the city would be the most dangerous thing to happen."

The puzzle pieces were fitting in place. Ides swallowed and continued doggedly. "But how did you tell—how did you inform _him—_"

"Ides—" Gen whispered.

"No!" Ides spat. "No," he continued in a softer voice. "I remember now—when I was in Samker's mind, when I lost control—there was a scroll, a scroll on the ground, you—"

"Wrote it?" Galbatorix supplied as Ides faltered.

"Wrote it," Ides echoed, pain clear in his eyes. "And so you led them here."

Silence reigned in the air. Finally, Gen nodded. "Yes."

"But—why?" Ides cried, his voice cracking. "Gen—"

"I didn't want to do it, at the end," Gen interrupted, raising his head to meet Ides's eyes. "I'm sorry, Ides. I—in the beginning, it was choice. But at the end—" he shook his head wildly, a bitter smile appearing on his lips.

"Spare me the ballads," Galbatorix yawned. "That's the problem with untrained agents—they go all soppy in the end."

He strode over to Ides, smiling benignly and yet, viciously. "You've led me on quite a little chase, Ides," he said, "but surely you know better than to try to escape me. If the Riders couldn't do it, if the Varden can't do it, you wouldn't either. Through Teleus, I took you. Through you, I'll take Peregrine. Not to kill him, of course—after all, he's got the blood that will make him my second Rider. Which is what you planned to do, and failed. Isn't that nice?"

Galbatorix turned away from Ides's frozen frame and beckoned to the soldiers. "Captain Blackfire," he said with a nod, "take them to the palace, will you?"

The soldiers moved to obey. Galbatorix watched them take the unmoving Ides and Rina, then turned to the smugglers. "I've got no quarrel with the slave trade or whatever lots you're moving," he said cheerfully, "but take care you don't transport traitors next time. I'll be very cross. For now, though, the Pirean smugglers can stand."

He gave a little wave and followed the soldiers out.

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_End of Chapter Twenty-Seven_


	28. Chapter 28

Sorry I didn't update last week! Serious serious serious writer's block. My life sucks. Plus, the week before finals is always worse than the actual testing itself and so, yeah.

Where was I…oh, yeah. I did tell you guys I was going to be splitting POVs, so this is now Murtagh/Salem's version of what's been going on. This is Part I, the next chapter will be Part II, and that will bring _4/3/101_ officially to an end, and then we can move on.

What happens after Teleus/Gen's betrayal! You're going to have to wait another two chapters to find out:)

Lots of Murtagh/Salem stuff in this chapter! Actually, the entire chapter is Murtagh/Salem. Tell me what you think!

**ReViEwEr ReSpOnSeS!**

**Its.Garnet.Time**: Aww! I got all warm and fuzzy (and also broke a rib laughing) when your little explodey thingy rammed into my apartment and broke the window and the window pane fell down and the police arrested me for disturbing the peace and vandalism and plus I have to pay medical fees to the guy who got a concussion when my window pane fell down sixteen stories and knocked him out. The trial is set for next Friday (when finals are over…yes, even in jail finals are still here) so make sure to be there to testify for me!

**Mrs Pierre Bouvier**: They are the chapters on which this story will turn…THE END HAS STARTED. THE DOOM OF THE WORLD IS HERE. LYK, OMG, RUN!

Sorry. Stupidity rush. :P

**Mistress-of-Misery**: Traitors…well, what makes a good story is really the ability to do the unexpected, I guess…traitors just happen to be the easiest way out. I mean, J.K. Rowling had one, and even Murtagh was a traitor of sorts in Eldest…hmm. goes off into thought

Neopets kicks butt. May it live forever! Whee.

**Silver sliver**: Ha! Well, I'd been planning Gen's betrayal for a REALLY long time, and I was evilly pleased to find that so many people liked him. Makes it more, I don't know, impact-y I guess.

**IndyJonesRocks**: grins Hey, do you write Eragon fanfics? I haven't seen one of yours, but it may be just because I missed it. What're the title(s)?

**I Elenial I**: You never gave me a response for chappie 27! What do you think?

**Arias asriel**: Hmm. At this rate, maybe six chapters, max, until the Burning Plains.

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_4/3/101_

_Earlier that day_

_Part I_

Murtagh didn't loosen his grip on Salem's hand, and for her part, she didn't make a sound, which suited him just fine. He jabbed his sword back into his belt, stalking forward. His mind was a raging turmoil of emotions—confusion, exasperation, guilt, but really, just confusion.

_Where am I supposed to take her? _he thought crossly as he squinted against the afternoon sun.

That was the primary question. Galbatorix had left instructions, of course—Murtagh was to proceed directly to the palace, where Galbatorix would then take her. Or something like that. That question was solved, but only temporarily. For some reason, he felt hideously _guilty_.

Well, the guilt was probably because once she was in Galbatorix's hands, she would probably be tortured or something like that. Murtagh gritted his teeth as he stalked down the streets, Salem in tow. _All right,_ he thought angrily at his conscience. He couldn't lie to himself, not now. _I don't like it, it's the act of pond scum, but it's what I have to do. Self-preservation of yourself, there's nothing more important. Or have you forgotten?_

His conscience poked him.

_All right,_ he conceded, _and of Thorn, too. _

Another poke.

He growled at the implied message it was sending him. _That's ridiculous,_ he snapped. _I don't feel guilty because how Thorn treated her. It was her problem that she killed that man, and she deserved it for telling, that captain about us. Not—_

"Watch it!"

Murtagh shook himself out of his reverie to see some a furious looking old man in front of him, wizened apples rolling around his feet. "You idiot!" the old man shrieked. "Look what you've done! My apples!"

Murtagh stared, feeling slightly dazed. The man hissed furiously at his perplexed expression, picking up an apple and pitching it with surprising strength at Murtagh. It flew in a flawless arc, bouncing off his shoulder. "Pick them up, you useless fool!" he screeched, stamping his feet.

Wordlessly, Murtagh bent down, shoveling them up one by one and imagining each to be the old man's head as he dug his nails into each apple. The old man watched with vindicative pleasure, then snapped, "Give them to me, you useless lump."

Murtagh swallowed and handed them to the old man, his face like iron and unreadable. The old man stalked off, muttering about the idiocies of youth and how children never respected their elders these days. Murtagh closed his eyes and counted to ten. Anger only served well when channeled well, and lashing out in a fury wouldn't do any good now.

He opened his eyes and looked around for Salem. She was leaning against a filthy wall, arms crossed, watching him with unholy amusement on her face. Her gaze flicked significantly to the shadow of the old man, whose muttered curses could still be heard.

She _unsettled _him, annoyed him. His guilt rapidly turned into full-blown irritation which he welcomed. "Come on," he snapped.

"That was a very nice thing you did," she remarked lazily. "Helping your elders to pick up apples. So glad to see you were raised properly."

"You sound like Thorn," he muttered under his breath. Loud enough for her to hear, he said sharply, "You can come willingly, or I can knock you unconscious and drag you to the palace. It's all the same to me."

She tilted her head, hazel eyes watching him. "Are you a fast runner, Murtagh?"

He was running out of patience, and showed it by drawing his sword. "Don't play games with me, Salem," he said, his voice soft and dangerous.

Her eyes hardened. "You're right, I shouldn't. Not with Galbatorix's _pet_, his oh-so-faithful watchdog. But that doesn't mean I should sit around and beg to be eaten, either."

"Are you coming or not?" he growled.

"If I say no?"

"Then I'll use magic to knock you unconscious and drag you to the palace."

"_Magic_," she said contemptuously. "How nice to know we all play fair in this world."

"_Fair_ has nothing to do with it," Murtagh retorted in despite of himself. He let out a half-hiss, half-snarl, furious at himself for breaking his self-control. This was not the time to engage in an argument. Lunging forward, he gripped her hand, pulling her forward.

She braced her arm on the wall and kicked his bad leg. The weakened muscle bucked, dropping in a terrifying display of weakness. Murtagh swore and rolled, pushing himself up to his feet a few feet away. His sword lay flat by his side, the edge safely out of the way. "Salem," he snarled through gritted teeth, "_stop._"

"Or you'll what?" she replied, the anger in her voice mirroring his. "Use your filthy magic on me?"

"Yes," he snapped, following it with, "malthinae!"

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Salem gave a yelp of surprise, feeling invisible bands draw her hands and feet together, sending her sprawling. She lay face-down in the dirt, cursing the Rider with every single word she knew—and as it happened, that was a lot.

When a suitable pause has passed and the Rider hadn't made a move, she craned her neck uncomfortably backwards, squinting for a glance. He seemed to be—well, it looked like he was _kneeling_ in the dirt, his palms braced against the dirty ground. "Oh, that's wonderful," she muttered, and in a louder voice added, "You know, you really don't have to bow to me."

He raised his head slightly to give her an evil glare, dark hair flopping into his face. "Shut _up_," he growled.

With a tremendous effort, he shoved himself upwards, panting slightly, leaning against the wall with his head thrown back. Finally, he said slowly, "I don't think I can carry you."

A dozen sarcastic replies leapt into her mind; with an effort, she bit them back. Finally, in her sincerest voice, she said, "I'm sorry for you."

He grunted. "Without a doubt."

A minute more of uncomfortable silence passed, then like a miracle, Salem felt the invisible bonds begin to trickle, flowing into nothingness. She pushed herself up to her feet, patting the worst of the dirt off. The Rider remained where he was, sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, his face unnaturally pale. His eyes, though, were still hard and steady.

"And this is where I try to take off?" Salem asked, looking down at him. "And then you whip out a sword and cut me to pieces?"

He shrugged slightly. "You may if you wish," he said at length, "though I doubt if I'm in any condition to do the sword-whipping part."

"What happened to your magic?" she asked curiously. "I thought Riders were invincible or something."

"It disappeared along with my patience," he growled. "Start running, you idiot. I'll chase you later."

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Salem looked pensively at him, then turned and began walking down the street. Murtagh was prepared to let her go, prepared to chase her preferably after he'd had a good night's sleep and a decent healing. He gave a soft moan and slid down again, his weak leg beginning to pain him once more—

He stumbled to his feet, a strange, tingling force shooting through him. He recognized it instantly as the effects of Galbatorix's magic upon him, forcing him to do as he commanded. It was a strange, terrifying feeling, not being able to control how he wished to move or where he wanted to go. He lurched forward, grabbing her arm with his left hand.

She hissed with surprise, slapping him full across the face. Murtagh gave a half-strangled yelp but didn't let go, his fingers cemented around her arm. He _couldn't_ let go, no matter how much he fought the magic. "Will you stop that?" he snarled through gritted teeth as she dug the nails of her free hand into his fingers.

"Only if you let go!" she spat into his face, jabbing a finger into his right eye. Murtagh reeled back, tears streaming, struggling against the force of command in his hand. "Just stop it!" he yelled as Salem was on him like a wild cat. "Just—get—off—"

He gathered on a last shard of strength, forcing himself to open his left eye to gain his bearings. Hooking his feet around hers, he sent her tumbling to the floor with him on top of her, both of them struggling for an advantage. Pinning her down with his legs, he forced his free hand around her throat. She froze, glaring daggers up at him.

And that's when his left hand came free.

He sighed, flexing the hand a little ruefully. _Now_ that he had her under control, the magic would release his death grip on her arm. He released her neck and rolled off her, both of them panting like wild animals.

"I thought you said you were going to let me go," she growled, her voice a little hoarse.

He gave her a sideways glance. "I thought I was," he said tiredly, "but I can't."

"Aren't you oh-so-tired? Exhausted? What the hell was that, then?" she asked, gesturing emphatically. "For a second there, I thought you were going to rape me!"

"Rape—" Murtagh gave out a weary bark of laughter. "Believe me, Salem, you're not all that attractive. Nobody in their right mind would want to _rape_ you."

She gave him a nasty look. "I don't know whether to be insulted or complimented."

"Take it as you want."

They sat there for a moment more, both of them in a foul mood with the other. Finally, Salem said coldly, "What now?"

"I don't know," Murtagh answered after a moment. "I can't let you go—"

"Why not?" she demanded.

"Magic…" he shrugged helplessly. "I have to follow the rules."

She didn't answer, and despite himself he looked at her, watching for a response. Salem was frowning thoughtfully, tracing a pattern in the dirt-covered streets. "What rules?" she asked slowly.

"None of your business," he snapped.

She shrugged, gazing into the distance. "Whatever. I'm just saying, you don't look in any condition to do a serious, full-blown chase, no matter what these rules are. If I take off, you'll chase me and this little episode will just repeat for the umpteenth time until we seriously injure each other. If I stay, though, you'll take me and Galbatorix will—" she didn't finish the thought, her face grave.

"So what do you want?" Murtagh asked her quietly.

Salem considered it. "Can I knock you unconscious?"

He laughed unenthusiastically. "I doubt you can, Salem."

"So what?" she snapped, anger flaring up. "So we sit here and talk until the sun goes down? Or you use your disgusting magic on me and take me by force? You tried that, it doesn't work very well. If I run, which I'm really inclined—"

"Shut up, Salem," Murtagh sighed. "Look, I'm as confused as you are. I don't know what to do either—I would let you go, but I can't. So just _stop_ it, because I don't know what I'm supposed to do and I'm just so—"

He rubbed his eyes to cover his shock. He was rambling, going on aimlessly and pointlessly, trying to fill in gaps in conversation. What in the world was happening to him? Maybe it was the headache, or the steady ache in his leg…or maybe it was the fact that he was so _tired_. The healing earlier that morning (was it only that morning? It seemed so long ago…) had drained him of more energy than he had thought, leaving him as strong as an overboiled noodle.

"You sounded actually human for a second there," Salem commented softly, breaking into his agitated thoughts.

He gave her a startled glance. Her expression was unreadable as she gazed back at him calmly. He swallowed and looked away, uncomfortable.

"Will you get in trouble if I smack you unconscious and run away?" she asked quietly.

Murtagh gritted his teeth, furious at—well, everything. Furious at himself for losing control, furious at Salem for being so annoying, furious at Galbatorix for obvious reasons, and absurdly, furious at Thorn for not being there. _Where are you?_ he thought at his dragon angrily, throwing his mind against the glass barrier. _Where _are _you! I didn't want you in my life but now that you're gone, I find there's this great big gaping hole in me…_

"That's touching," Salem said, a definite tone of cool amusement in her voice now.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, surprised. "I wasn't talking to you."

"I know," she replied lightly. "But you know, I seem to be able to pick up on strong thoughts. Like that time with your dragon…maybe you shouldn't shout so loud. Where _is_ your pet dragon, anyway?"

"He's not my _pet_," Murtagh snapped before he could help himself. "He's a sentient being, smarter than you by a long shot."

"Insults," Salem said delicately. "How mature. Absolutely. The mark of distinction and prestige, that is."

She was _grinning_, the little git. Murtagh blew out his breath slowly. "I don't have time for this," he growled at last, his thoughts churning.

Dragging or forcing her to the palace by either magic or anything else was flat-out impossible. But maybe if he could contact the city patrol or—or if he could get the city patrol to come, maybe, maybe _maybe_ he could deliver her to Galbatorix as per orders.

Guilt twinged at him, and he shoved it away. _I don't have a choice_, he snapped fiercely at it, turning his mind to the matter at hand. _I have orders. What Galbatorix wants with her is his business._

He would have to get the empire's soldiers to come to him. And how to do that? Murtagh's mind raced. He needed time, and a place with more people…he turned to Salem.

"Let's just go to some inn or something, get out of the street," he said, looking her in the eye. "We have a stalemate here and maybe time will help solve it. I don't know."

She hesitated, eyes searching him carefully. "All right," she said warily. "I don't know the slums too well, though."

"Neither do I." Murtagh couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze, knowing what havoc he planned to wreck and what he planned to do in order to fulfill his orders.

Salem was still frowning, but finally she nodded, helping him up.

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Connac and his men were settling comfortably into city barrack life. The other regular patrol captain stationed at the garrison was a slim, quiet man named Adrian Healey. Healey had greeted Connac quietly, introduced Connac to his quarters quietly, and left just as quietly, never lifting his voice above a gentle murmur.

Connac hesitated. Sergeant Chandler had left with a message for the emperor not too long ago informing him of the gray seal, and somebody with royal authority should be arriving very soon. He swallowed, feeling clammy with anticipation. What if his majesty himself came?

_Gods, I hope not,_ he thought, peering out over the parade ground. _Is that them?_

He quickened his pace, heading over to the gate. The riders were dismounting off their horses: a plain, army issue brown mare and a glossy black stallion, tossing its dark mane proudly. Connac swallowed, feeling incredibly nervous as his eyes slid to the riders.

"Your majesty," Sergeant Chandler said as he patted his mount gently, "this is Captain Connac Blackfire."

Connac breathed sharply out as his eyes involuntarily met the eyes of Galbatorix, the legendary Rider and emperor of all Alagaesia. He knelt, bowing his head. "Your majesty," he said softly.

Light fingers touched his shoulder, and the emperor spoke. His voice was melodic, hypnotic. "Will you serve me loyally unto death, Captain Blackfire?"

Connac nodded, mute.

"Then rise, and let ceremony be finished," Galbatorix said gently. "We will interact as men now, men who are bound by loyalty. Please stand."

Connac stood, awed beyond all belief. Finding his voice, he said shakily, "How may I serve, your majesty?"

Galbatorix smiled. "You are a military man, Captain, so let's work by military formalities. 'Sir' will do. Now, you are in charge of a full company? One hundred men?"

"Yes, your maj—sir."

"Good. Can your men assemble out here in fifteen minutes? I have a very important job for them, and you."

Connac turned to Sergeant Chandler, who was still standing there patiently, a hand on his steed's reins. "Sergeant," he said softly.

The sergeant understood and gave his mare to a nearby soldier, murmuring instructions. He then strode off to the center parade grounds, where he would call a meeting of sergeants. The sergeants would then inform their individual squads to gather.

Galbatorix watched Chandler go, his dark eyes glinting. Connac stood uneasily, groping for something to say.

"Would you like to sit down, sir?" he asked finally, and faltered as Galbatorix turned his piercing gaze onto him.

"That would be pleasant," the emperor acknowleged lightly. "We have a chase ahead of us, after all."

He smiled again, but this time the hunter—cold, vicious, calculated—broke through his calm demeanor. Connac wasn't easily frightened, but the expression on Galbatorix's face would send the bravest man to a screaming end.

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_End of Chapter Twenty-Eight_

Salem/Murtagh fluff! Tell me what you think! Hope I wasn't too OOC…

I'm not done yet with them…there will be one more chapter and then we'll go on.

**FINALS ARE HERE! CRAP CRAP CRAP goes off into enthusiastic swearing and ranting**

Oh yeah! I almost forgot. I updated Chapter Two…revamped it completely, actually. Tell me what you think in your review for this chapter or drop me an anonymous one on chapter two.


	29. Chapter 29

**Its.Garnet.Time:** Aww, I'll see you back when you come from camp, then! Anyway, school's let out here (finally!) and so I have basically nothing to do except the heaps of fine, fun 'summer homework' that my school has decided to give us. Ugh.

**Mrs. Pierre Bouvier**: Hah! I plan to write at least one more major Murtagh/Salem chapter (maybe two) so there's a lot more squabbling planned…but yes, there will be a romance. It's forming, at least I hope it is. Or will be. Something like that.

**Mistress-of-Misery**: Well, Chap 28 was a pretty hard chapter for me to write because I had to be so careful to keep them in character. In the first few drafts, Salem seriously seriously SERIOUSLY sounded like Thorn and Murtagh was far too emotional and argued way too much. But I'm glad how it turned out in the end after TEN ZILLION HOURS of editing.

**Ridin' Dirty**: Hrm, you do have a point. I don't know…what defines a Mary-Sue? Less self-confident, gushy, what? Salem (the current Salem) I like to think right now is downright pissed with Murtagh but also inclined to a hint of sympathy for his predicament. I do need a romance because it will play an important factor later, but yeah, I have to admit it's difficult to write. We'll see. I'm thinking more in the direction of _friendship_ really, but I'll head for romance if possible at all.

Ooh, and about the magicker (correct spelling, it's street slang (my street slang) for a magic-wielding person—I didn't want to call them witches or magicians or anything, that's just way too corny) thing, Salem's not a magicker. See, when I first created her character, I had the vague idea that she _would_ have rudimentary magic of a sort, but after I created Tria and Heii and Ides I felt like there was too magic in the scene already. But the whole idea of her being able to hear strong thoughts stemmed from that alternate plotline, the one where she had magic. You're right, it's out of place, but it's too late to get rid of it now. XO

**Gewher**: I know, poor Murtagh! I want to give him a big sloppy hug, but then he'd probably just think I was crazy. sigh Oh well, I'll send Salem to do it for me ASAP, as soon as I get this up and floating. ;)

**Emerald Tiara**: Don't you know it's naughty to go around playing with large sharp swords? You might accidentally cut yourself! Wait...what are you doing? GET AWAY FROM ME! I DIDN'T MEAN IT! NOOOOO--

**Ack! Before I forget—I tacked on an extra section onto the end of chapter 28, you can read it if you like. It's not majorly important or anything, but it just didn't fit at the beginning of this chapter. Anyway…go on and read, don't let me stop you…**

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_4/3/101_

_Part II, as begun in Chp. 28_

Salem half-dragged, half-carried Murtagh to the nearest pub and nearly fainted as she entered the crowded, sleazy, sweat-and-cheap-cigar-smoke-filled air. The thought of pulling Murtagh through the crowd to find a chair was daunting. She nudged him. "Can you stand?"

He didn't respond. If anything, he just sagged even more. Salem growled in annoyance and peered closely at his face. He seemed to have fainted.

"Wonderful!" Salem hissed. She gave a longing glance at the door, wondering whether to make a break for it. He was unconscious, after all; he couldn't stop her.

She knelt slowly, propping him down against a wall. Murtagh would be moderately safe here—at least, she hoped he would. He might wake up a great deal poorer, but he would be alive.

_And so would you, Salem!_

She took a step towards the door.

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Murtagh let his eyelids flutter open, knowing that he had seconds to act before Salem tried to escape and the magic kicked in again. The setting couldn't be better—it was crowded, it was disgusting, and it stank like hell.

Murtagh carried four throwing knives in addition to his sword; he drew one of them now. Sitting up slightly, he looked around for a target—he didn't want to kill anybody, just start a huge noisy fight that would hopefully draw official attention.

_Perfect_.

Taking a swift glance for Salem, he saw that her back was to him, one foot out the door. No time to waste. He stood up, aimed, and threw.

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_KAAAASSKEEEEEWWWWWWWWW—_

Salem jumped and turned around involuntarily at the huge, splintering sound of glass breaking. Instant silence fell over the crowd, all eyes on the broken oil lamp and the throwing knife that was planted firmly in the wooden barstand right behind it.

Then—

The flames roared, streaking right across the _wooden_ barstand. The bartender let loose a mighty oath and jumped back, screeching as he lunged for the back door. Spilled drinks with high alcohol content fed to the flames, and also to panic. The sober patrons screamed and fought to get out the door, while the drunk ones swayed around lurching into people and making escape even worse.

Salem had hesitated too long. Callused fingers wrapped around her wrist, yanking her deeper into the tavern and the screaming crowd. She found herself squashed against Murtagh, who was not unconscious in the least bit. "Don't move," he muttered into her ear.

She ignored him, plowing her elbow into his stomach. He flinched slightly but otherwise didn't move—his stomach region was layered with muscle, anyway, and rock hard. _I'm glad he does his exercises_, she thought sourly, and aimed her next blow at a considerably more private region.

It worked, to say the least.

Murtagh swore violently and doubled over, whimpering faintly with pain. One hand let go, but the other tightened its grip on her arm.

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_Little—_

Murtagh bit back another yelp, and despite the pain between his legs he managed to walk, shoving gamely through the thinning crowd and pulling Salem out the door. The crowd dispersed rapidly enough once outside, but smoke could already be seen rising up from the tavern. In fact, it really couldn't have been better—screaming, fire, and not a single casualty. Perfect for attracting royal attention.

He was in too much pain to enjoy it.

Salem had not given up on trying to escape once they were outside—she was engaging in a serious round of blows, kicks, and scratches, and Murtagh was having a hell of a time trying to defend himself while still keeping his grip on her arm. Using his superior strength, Murtagh ducked, pivoted, and nearly threw her into the wall. She fell to the ground, stunned, held up only by his grip. Using his body, he shoved her against the wall and squashed her there.

"_Don't move_," he grunted. "Now—"

_Oh, hell_.

Murtagh carried four knives, one on his hip, another in his leather arm guards, and the other two in his boots. He had thrown one of them at the lamp; the other Salem yanked out now, angry intent in her eyes. Murtagh jumped away barely in time and drew his third knife from his wrist sheath, his mind calculating.

She carried the knife awkwardly, as if she didn't have too much experience in the art of knife-fighting. Which she probably didn't, come to think of it. The two combatants locked eyes, and Murtagh moved.

Instinct and years of training took over, allowing no room for ethics or emotion. He couldn't kill, he understood that full well, but he could do a lot short of that.

He grabbed her left hand, slammed her against the filthy wall, and disarmed her with a quick twist of his right hand. The knife clattered away harmlessly to skid a few feet away. Salem squirmed beneath him; he grabbed her wrists in his left hand and placed the knife against her throat.

"Now," Murtagh said, breathing harshly. "I can't kill you, Salem, but I will cripple you if you move. Do you understand me?" His grip tightened as she didn't answer. "_Do you understand me!"_

He could feel her heart pounding, her pulse in her wrists. "Yes," she whispered finally.

He waited, adrenaline still pouring through his veins, giving him a rush of energy that he welcomed greatly. Slowly, deliberately, he released her. She backed away against the wall, her eyes watching him as she rubbed her wrists slowly.

Murtagh exhaled, and with that, the sounds seemed to come back. He became fully aware of the screaming mess around him, and the acrid tang of smoke beginning to flood the air. Murtagh took a quick glance around and quickly realized that his little 'diversion' was much more than that—the fire was jumping to another building, taking full advantage of the garbage piles and the wooden frames of the buildings. He grabbed Salem's wrist, eyes scanning the scene.

It was havoc. The fire was blazing around the frames of two buildings, and rapidly spreading to another. He could hear frantic screams all around him as people fought to clear the area, but in the process, only made the mess worse.

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There were shouts, hoarse yells coming from the road four blocks over. Smoke could be seen flowing thickly into the sky, and even from a distance the panic was clear. Connac hesitated, then looked at Galbatorix for permission.

"Oh, go on," Galbatorix said mildly. "I suggest you peel off perhaps a quarter of your troops to deal with this, Captain." He smiled lightly. "No rush, but we are on a bit of a schedule."

Connac nodded, calling out names. "Evyn! Meran!"

The two sergeants stepped forward, awaiting instructions. Connac gave them in a low voice, also asking the company magicker to send messages mentally asking for a fire brigade.

The two sergeants nodded, calling their squads to attention. Galbatorix watched them go, an idle smile on his face, a dreamy look in his eye.

"Your majesty?" Connac asked uncertainly.

"Mmm?" Galbatorix looked at him and seemed to snap out of his daze. "Oh yes. That's taken care of? Very well. Shall we proceed?"

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_"QUIET! ALL OF YOU, THIS WAY, DON'T SHOVE, ALL OF YOU WILL GET OUT!"_

Salem's head snapped up at the sound of the voice, strong and official. Her heart began to pound frantically. The city patrol! Just what she didn't need...

The crowd quieted down uneasily, looking around, shifting restlessly. Two men were directing the action, their uniforms ranking them as sergeants. Salem felt Murtagh's hand tighten on hers, pulling her forward. She dug her heels in, trying to walk a fine line between the growing wariness-slash-fear she had of him and her burning desire to escape. He didn't look back at her, but she knew what he was thinking.

Or did she? She honestly didn't know anymore. He seemed human at times, but otherwise he was...cold, emotionless. He was tired, to be sure, but there was an icy layer locking that weakness away. And by the gods, the way he was currently yanking her forward, he wasn't tired one single bit.

The crowd was filtering out, quieter and more orderly as the fire brigade arrived. Filthy water (sewer water most likely) exploded from the end of a rusty pipe, attacking the flames with sluggish vigor.

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Murtagh pushed Salem into the wall, standing solidly in front of her. He waited for the crowd to thin, one eye on the sergeants. He would need them.

When he judged the moment was right, he walked slowly up to one of them. The man looked hassled, as he had spent the last half-hour scurrying around trying to keep people from killing each other. When Murtagh approached him, he looked extremely cross and less than pleasant. _"What?"_ he snarled.

"I need your help," Murtagh began, uncertain as what to say now that he was actually here. "I'm--"

"Yeah, so does everyone else. Look, smart-ass, I'm busy." His eyes flicked away, and he yelled, "_Elin! Get them around the building!_" before turning back to Murtagh. "Please go away."

Murtagh's temper flared up. He fought to keep it under rein, mustering up every ounce of self-control. With gritted teeth, he snapped, _"Do you know who I am_?"

"No, and I don't--" he paused, eyes narrowed.

"Yes," Murtagh said grimly. "I need your help, do you understand?"

The man's face was cold, but he nodded. "Dyros! Risan! Parson!" he shouted. "Come here!" He drew his sword, a look of anger and surprise on his face. "Both of you are under arrest for treason."

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_End of Chapter Twenty-Nine_

What!

Wait...

Oh.

Okay then.

So, next chapter will pick up...well, I'm not too sure. Anyway, it'll pick up. Someday. I haven't forgotten Ides and co, they will come in soon and enough and do their act.

The soldiers recognize Murtagh and Salem as the people who break through the gate under a false name and engaged in a huge duel. Remember that? It was ages ago in some chapter or another, but both of them--at least Salem is--has a bounty for capture. The soldiers just don't like Murtagh because...well, because.

Anyway...SUMMER VACATION IS HERE! WHOO HOO! EYAAAH! NAAHAHAHA! does crazy dance And that means that I have more time to work on the computer...but anyway, whoever kidnapped my muses, please give them back. I will pay whatever ransom you want, just don't hurt them! weeps


	30. Chapter 30

**Coffee Grounds:** Well, you can't really blame Murtagh for being a little rough, can you? After all, she did pull a knife on him…

**Mrs Pierre Bouvier**: My muses finally decided to return to me; they had pulled off a fake kidnapping so that they could get some vacation time in the Bahamas. growls And after all that worrying and sleepless nights I had!

**Fallonaiya Sedai**: Thanks! I worked pretty hard on this chapter too…tell me if it's convincing or not when you read it!

**Mistress-of-Misery**: Yep, and the day is officially done in this chapter! I just hope that 4/4/101 doesn't drag as this one does because I will go seriously nuts if I keep on spinning out the plot like that.

**Gewher**: Hmm? What's that you say? Your hints have magically sunk into my subconscious mind, because somehow this chapter has incorporated your ideas…

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_4/3/101_

Murtagh's hand automatically dropped to his sword, his heart pounding. The soldier smiled, cold and mocking. "You can come peacefully with us, or we will take you by force," he said, his hand dropping to his own sword. Behind him, the three soldiers he had called drew closer, their own weapons already out.

Murtagh gritted his teeth. "What merits a charge of treason?" he snapped.

"Attempted trespassing, wounding of a royal soldier without declarations of war, and a bounty on her—" the soldier stabbed a finger at Salem—"head. Will you come peacefully, or will we take you by force?"

"I don't have time for this!" Murtagh yelled, his temper truly snapping this time. "Can't you see—"

The soldier grinned, pulled his fist back, and punched Murtagh across the face. He fell to the floor, stunned, struggling to get back onto his feet. A swift kick to the head put him into muzzy unconsciousness.

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Sergeant Evyn Chandler let out a satisfied hiss of laughter, staring down at the fallen man. "That's for Brial," he said softly. With a sudden violence, he kicked again. The man groaned slightly, his eyelids fluttering.

"And that's for Timas."

He turned to the girl, who was staring at him with an appalled expression. "Would you like to go out the same way as he did, lass?" he inquired. "Or would you prefer to come peaceably?"

Her eyes widened. "I—I—"

"I'll take that as a yes," he told her quietly. Without taking her eyes off her, Chandler called, "Dyros?"

"Yes, sir," the soldier said from behind him.

"You, Risan, and Parson—please take our guests back to our headquarters, please. Lock them up very carefully." His eyes narrowed. "And inform the emperor when he returns."

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Salem's numbed brain was hearing the words as if from a distance as she watched the hardened soldiers narrow in on her, their weapons still at hand. She couldn't fight all of these—not three trained soldiers of the royal army. Murtagh couldn't help her and _wouldn't_ even if he were conscious, and the crowd was already thinning, the fire dying down.

_I can't_, she though, panicked. _I can't let them do this—I can't—_

"No!"

The sound escaped from her as a mewl, a mere squeak. It was enough, however, to make one of them stop, a strangely sympathetic expression on his face. He turned back to the other man, the one who seemed to be in charge. They spoke quietly to each other, a soft debate going on. Finally, the soldier turned back to her.

"Sorry, lass," he said quietly, extending a hand to her. She stared at it, her mind blank. Trembling, she took it as if in a daze.

His hand flashed, smacking her smartly in the temples. She staggered, almost dropping. He hit her again, and she fell to the ground next to Murtagh, just as unconscious.

"There," Dyros said, kneeling down. "She's unconscious, sir."

"Yes." Chandler cleared his throat. "Take them to headquarters."

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**I feel that something is appropriate here…something nice and distracting with flashy neon signs. Guess what! We are outta 4/3/101! Yee hah! All or most of the main characters are in prison, isn't that nice of me?**

**So…next time the font stops being all big and boldy, it will be 4/4/101. I think we should celebrate, don't you? Have some cookies, won't you? And punch. Nice sweet sugary fruit punch that rots your teeth. hands out cookies amd punch**

**Okay, now that the celebrations are done with…**

**BACK TO THE CHAPTER!**

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_4/4/101_

Night fell down softly, a calm hush over the city. The curfew came and lamps were doused, and the midnight watch did their nightly rounds. It was quiet and peaceful in the city of Uru'baen.

Most of it, anyway.

There were scattered pockets of unrest in the city—in a lavish room, a man named Teleus Gerilson paced the lush carpet, sick with guilt at his own betrayal. Sweeping northwest, Connac Blackfire gazed restlessly out the window at the empty army barracks, still undressed after leading the midnight patrol, his mind on his sister. A couple miles away, in a sheltered cove, Martaila and Nealan DeVann slept, with Reya Karisdatir huddling unhappily behind them.

Moving deeper to the bowels of the city, in the dank areas where pain is commonplace, Henrides Miyan and Rina Onadatir slept uneasily in their filthy cell, chains binding them to the walls—guards stood outside, always watching. A weary young dragon also slept in the grip of his elder, his red flanks stained with blood and grime, whimpering faintly in his sleep for his Rider.

His Rider, unfortunately, had troubles of his own.

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Salem woke up with a start, a dull pain throbbing in her head. Her vision swam with dozens of tiny blinding dots as she sat up slowly, blinking. What…?

The dots faded away slowly, leaving her with a picture of her surroundings in the dim moonlight. Blanket. Hay bale. Dirt. Barred window. Sleeping man. Barred door. Bucket of—

Pause.

Her gaze slid back a few feet, back to the _sleeping man_ part. Memory came back in a rush, along with a huge, overwhelming sense of anger.

She threw off the grubby blanket, noticing with faint relief that she was not chained. _He_ was, however—a single heavy loop around his right ankle. Salem grinned with cold pleasure, also noting that he was weaponless.

She bent down and poked him in the ribs.

He grunted softly and twisted away. Salem's eyes narrowed, watching as he fumbled his way to a sitting position, holding his head gingerly. He didn't seem to see her as he rubbed his temples, fingering a bruise on his cheek with a pained expression on his face.

She cleared her throat, and his head snapped around, his eyes widening as he saw her. His mouth worked, and finally, he managed—"Oh."

"Yes. Oh." Salem crossed her arms, watching him intently. "Any other pearls of wisdom, o Intelligent One?"

He opened his mouth then shut it again. "You needn't be so bad-tempered," he said finally. "You knew I was going to take you to the emperor, and now I'm in the same situation as you are." He looked up, his eyes dark and grave. "Whatever happens to you will likely happen to me."

The lines around his mouth tightened, and he looked away.

Salem sighed, her anger leeching away. "Will you stop looking so—so damn _pitiful_? I want to be pissed at you. I want to yell and rant and bash your head in, and just as I'm getting all worked up, you turn those puppy eyes on me. Will you _stop that!"_

"I don't have puppy eyes," Murtagh commented in the silence that followed.

"No, you just have that little mournful expression that says, 'Oh, gods, I'm so sad and stoic and heroic, blah blah blah.'" Salem made a face. "See? Now I'm getting it again—"

"You must be seeing things," he said with a sigh.

"Am _not_," she retorted. "Look, what the hell happened back there? I thought you were oh-so-high-and-mighty in Galbatorix's lap. What was with all the—" she waved a hand vaguely, looking for the proper word. "The hostility? I would've thought they'd bow down and kiss your boots or something, instead of punching your face in." She nodded at the bruise on his cheek.

Murtagh shrugged slightly and didn't answer.

Salem made a face. "I could get better conversation out of a rock."

This time, he gave her a long, steady glare. "Why don't you shut up, Salem? Sometimes people don't want to talk, has that occurred to you? Sometimes people have better things to do that to listen to nonstop, idiot chatter."

"Oh?" she said sweetly. Too sweetly. "And what pressing things do _you_ have to do, hmmm? Polishing your boots? Lighting a fire? Sawing through the window?"

Murtagh gritted his teeth. "No," he snapped tightly. "You might like try _sitting_ and savoring the last night of peace that you'll get, Miss Blackfire. Once _he_ gets something, he'll never let it go—" With an effort, he bit off the flow of words, forcing himself to gain a hold on his temper. Anger flooded the steadily growing fear, taking his mind off what he _knew_ Galbatorix would do to him. In a strangled voice, he continued, "But this won't be real peace, either, because you'll just wonder and wait as a bag of nerves, dreading for it yet hoping that it'll be over…that it'll be over soon."

He bit his lip and closed his eyes. The words hung in the air between them, heavy and solemn. He chanced a quick look at her; in the dim moonlight, her expression was shadowy, cloaked. But his words had switched something on within her—fear. Not panic, not hysteria, not the kind of fear that triggers screaming fits and is over as soon as the crisis is over. It was the steady, dull ache that rang through one's bones, the kind of fear that never truly fades. The kind of fear that he knew well. Murtagh's fist clenched, and another emotion flooded him—guilt.

_I shouldn't have told her_, he thought wearily. _Now we'll both end up insane._

When Salem spoke next, her voice was soft, almost gentle. "You speak with experience," she said quietly. "Aren't Riders esteemed? Mystical? Why would he hurt you, after all? You're his most loyal vassal…aren't you?" She glanced at him, her eyes shadowed. "The Forsworn were."

"Forget it," Murtagh muttered. "It's none of your business, anyhow."

She laughed quietly. "I guess not."

He heard the rustling of hay as she leaned back against the wall.

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Salem let out a lengthy sigh, closing her eyes. _Well,_ she thought dully,_ I suppose the torture will start anytime now. Maybe they'll drag me out, and—what instruments would he use? The rack? The iron maiden? The—the—_

_Okay. Don't think about that_. Salem wrenched her mind away from the images her mind presented her. Yes, of course—don't think about chains or blood or the whip or pain or any of that. Of course not. Think of something else…

She sat up, frowning. Finally, she asked slowly, "Murtagh?"

"What?"

"What…what does he want me for? Why am I so important?"

A sigh. "Haven't got a clue," was the brusque reply.

Salem groaned. "You're not much for conversation, are you?" she groused.

He gave her an exasperated look. "Why do you _want_ to talk so much? Are all girls this way, or is it just you? Can't you leave a man in peace for once?"

"Oh, and you're a man?" she inquired wickedly. "And I'm a girl. Right. How old are you?"

He tried to hide it, but she saw a tiny grin quirk his mouth. "Twenty six," he said, propping himself up on his elbows. "What are you, twenty…twenty two? Twenty three?"

"Nineteen," she said gently in the voice usually reserved for the mentally ill. "I am nineteen years old. You look about my age, maybe one or two years older. I am not a girl, thank you very much, no more than you are a boy."

"I think the difference lies in the maturity level, Salem," he said just as gently. "You see, one makes the transition from 'girl' to 'woman' or 'boy' to 'man' when one is deemed to be sufficiently capable of existing in the real world."

"_You_ should talk," she said dryly. "What with burning up two buildings and all and getting us thrown into jail."

He sighed, leaning back. "I didn't mean to burn up the buildings," he said, rubbing his eyes. "I was just looking for a distraction."

"Yes," she murmured. "And you got one."

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The uncomfortable silence fell again. Finally, Salem sat up and crawled over to him, sitting a few feet away. Murtagh watched her shadowy form, knowing what was going to come next—questions, most likely. Questions and questions until his ears fell off or worse. Questions until he punched her in the nose to shut her up.

There were none. He sat up, still waiting for the silence to break.

Salem looked away, then down. Finally, in a low voice, she said, "Are you scared?"

He smiled ruefully and looked down at his hands, twisting them slowly. "A little," he said slowly.

She let out a shaky sigh. "I am." These last words were spoken in a whisper, a broken sound. "I don't know what'll happen…I don't know what anything will happen. And…" she glanced at him quickly. "Why don't you freak out? Why aren't you frightened?"

"I said I was frightened," Murtagh pointed out lightly.

"You said a little. That's hardly the same thing."

"Would you like a gibbering breakdown? Tears, to add for effect?" he asked wryly. "Perhaps I can summon them up, but it's a waste of time and energy.'

She let out a small hiss of laughter, then looked up. "Nothing like that," she said quietly. "But it's good to know I'm in prison with somebody _human_. Not a statue or somebody who doesn't feel…a ruthless killing machine. But somebody real."

"I'm not," he protested. "Salem, you can't go jumping to assumptions like that based on what you've seen. I never had reason to appear _human_ to you before, because you were a prisoner! And before that—"

"Before that your dragon cursed me from one side of Alagaesia to another, yes," she said, then paused. "Speaking of which, where is your dragon?"

Murtagh groaned, slumping. "I don't know," he muttered. "Galbatorix took him from me…gods know what he's suffering through. I can't even contact him anymore…"

Salem's touch startled him. It was like a butterfly, touching lightly and quickly, so fast that he wasn't even sure it was there. He glanced at her, frowning. She looked back at him quizzically.

"Did you…?"

"Did I what?" she asked, giving him an odd look.

"Never mind." Murtagh shook his head and glanced down at his arm, then to the moonlight filtering through the window. "Maybe I am…more than a little frightened," he conceded. "But, you know, Thorn's not too bad. You've just never seen his good side."

"Thorn?"

"Oh. Sorry. My dragon, his name is Thorn. He…" Murtagh played with the links of his chain, letting them clink slowly through his fingers. "One day, if there is a one day, you two need to seriously get acquainted. I'm sure you'd like each other."

"That's been tried," she pointed out. "We had plenty of time to get acquainted. Instead, he—"

"Oh, stop whining," he said. "I was there, too. I know perfectly well what went on."

He saw her smile in the gloom, raising an eyebrow. "Then you'll know just how mortally injured I was," she said. "My pain, my sorrow."

"You didn't seem very sorrowful when Thorn chased you off," he pointed out.

"Of course you wouldn't. I'm very good at hiding my emotions, stoic that I am." Salem sighed and relaxed, leaning against the wall a few feet away. She was quiet for a moment longer, then asked abruptly, "Do you have any siblings, Murtagh?"

Murtagh blinked, taken aback at this question. A surge of emotion rose up inside him, emotion that he thought he had dampened, erased. "A…brother," he said carefully, struggling to keep his voice calm. "Why do you ask?"

She turned, giving him a calm, thoughtful look. "Just wondering," she said quietly. "You sound…hesitant."

"Do I," Murtagh responded neutrally.

"Yes," she replied, soft-voiced. He swallowed, acutely uncomfortable.

"Is he all right?" she probed softly.

He turned his face away, feeling his flat shield of coolness rise up again within him. "It's none of your business how he is," he said coldly. "You don't know him."

She didn't answer.

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Salem closed her eyes, memories washing over her. She was eight when her eldest brother died, but even eight was old enough to remember him, to remember how he had time for the baby of the family when no one else did, to remember how he used to take her for walks and even showed her how to raise an orphaned baby bird. When he was killed by a stray arrow, she'd remembered how her mother had screamed for days, crying out for Eian, wanting her son back again. The rest of the family couldn't mourn openly for fear of making her sickness worse, and had to hide their tears and put on strong faces for her.

And then Connac had joined the army a couple months later as soon as he hit the eighteen mark, angrily breaking off all contact with his family. Salem's mother attempted suicide twice; she succeeded the second time. Her father had quietly mourned and buried her, turning his attention to raising his two remaining daughters, Beltane and Salem.

Now Beltane was married, packed off to some distant city that Salem had never heard of, never seen, and her father was dead. Charis had vanished to gods-know-where, and Reynold was dead.

Salem swallowed and shook her head, berating herself. _A pity party,_ she thought scathingly. _Why don't you just burst into tears while you're at it? Will tears do you any good? No…_

It took her a while to realize Murtagh was saying something. Wiping some stray moisture (**not** tears) from her eyes, Salem glanced at him. "Sorry?" Her voice was too hoarse for her liking. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I didn't hear what you said."

"It's not like you," he said, "to start a question then not reply while you're at it."

"I was _thinking_," she replied scathingly. "You might like to try it sometime."

To her surprise, he laughed. "I suppose. But I've found that thinking usually leads to nightmares and self-brooded hysteria." He gave her a small smile. "I'm sure you've discovered some of this already."

Salem's mind remembered her panicky thoughts of only a few moments before, and she conceded the point with a nod. "Just memories," she said quietly. "Memories you'd thought you'd buried, but they rise up again…"

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Murtagh gave a start when he heard these soft, wistful words. It was almost as if she was reading his mind, pulling out his thoughts of only a moment before. It took him a moment to get his voice properly under control. "You…you have these, too?"

She gave him a _look_. "Who doesn't?" she inquired. "I'm sure yours, no matter what they are, are not all that tragic if you put them in perspective. It's just that we hug them close, unwilling to let them spill. We don't share them, and so to us they seem to be the scar upon the earth. But they're not, not when compared to all else out there." She shrugged. "And now I've made a speech."

"It's quite a nice one," he said absently, turning her words over and over in his mind. _What're my troubles?_ he thought suddenly. _I'm cut off from Thorn, the Varden, Eragon, and everyone else, I'm under the grip of a powerful madman…I'm scheduled for bloody pain tomorrow and…well, isn't that enough to be going on with?_

"It could be worse," Salem said suddenly. He glanced at her, startled. "We could be put in separate cells," she pointed out. "Then we'd be going stark raving mad with no one to talk to. Thinking broods hysteria, remember?"

Murtagh stared, then grinned, a laugh breaking its way unexpectedly out of him.

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They stayed up that night and talked, weaving the conversation into all sorts of topics—some painful, some not. It kept both their minds off tomorrow and what it would bring, and even then it was comforting to know that they would share the fate. "Misery loves company, after all," Salem added reflectively during a pause.

Both of them were careful with each other, never forgetting that once something was said, it could not be unsaid. A feeling of unease still hung in the air, the unease of two strangers who were thrown together by circumstance.

But sometimes, that was all you needed. Before they knew it, the silver moonlight faded away, replaced by the brightening light of dawn.

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_End of Chapter Thirty_

This was a **hard** chapter to write. Very, extremely difficult. I struggled with it for AGES, I swear…but I hope the result is passable. Better than passable, maybe…I hope it's convincing, anyhow. I've read and reread it so many times there's absolutely no way I can be unbiased, but the point here was to make this flow smoothly.

I've already started work on the last chapter…:)

So. Look, peeps, please review. I got **five** reviews for the last chapter, and how many hits? Where have all you people been hiding? Please review! Anonymous reviews are fine, just give me _some_ response. Thanks!

**Note: I went back and changed Salem/Murtagh's age to fit more closely with _Eldest_.**


	31. Chapter 31

**Reviews! You guys totally rock my socks. I got SO MANY reviews this time! Thank you all!**

My reviewer responses for this chapter filled about 1 1/2 pages, so I'm shifting it to the end of this chapter so that the people who want to actually read the chapter don't have to sift through lines and lines of text. :o

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_4/4/101_

_Early dawn_

Ides felt the rough hand on his arm, jerking him awake. His eyes flew open, startled out of sleep. "What—" he said hoarsely, before fear clamped his throat tight.

"Come," a guard snapped, unlocking his chains. Two others surrounded him, gripping his shoulder. "The emperor wants you."

"No," Ides whispered, his voice ragged. "I—"

The guard ignored him, carrying a whispered conversation with another soldier. He waved his hand idly at the other guards, motioning for them to carry on.

Terror paralyzed him, making it impossible for him to walk, let alone attempt escape. Memories flashed through his mind, dark and vivid, memories of his last journey through the dungeons.

_Gods,_ he thought frantically, calling up every single god and goddess he knew._ Whoever's listening_, he thought feverishly, _don't—_

The slam of a grate brought him back to earth. Nothing short of a miracle could get him out now.

The guard ahead of them picked out a long iron key, unlocking a barred door. One of them gave Ides a shove, forcing him in.

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_Later—Morning_

Neal was already up and awake by the time Martaila staggered out of the cave they were using for shelter. "Good morning, Marta," he said, not bothering to look up.

"What's going on?" she rasped, rubbing her eyes. "Where's Reya?"

"Reya decided that she would go for a nice walk back to civilization, and leave us uncouth barbarians behind," Neal said cheerfully, straightening up from his fire. There was a smudge of soot on his nose, but he ignored it as he dug through their packs. "We are far too rough for her delicate lady tastes."

Martaila put her arms on her hips, glaring at him. "Neal. Where is she?"

He did look at her now, grinning. "You are the paragon of female beauty, Auntie," he said, green eyes flicking mischievously up and down. "Your gray hair, so lustrous and silky, your fair dark eyes, containing pools of hidden depth that no mortal man can penetrate. I fall down to my knees in awe."

"_Neaal…_" Martaila grated. She was not a morning person in the least, and she was aware of it. "Where _is_ she?"

He waved a hand airily. "In the cave. I'm surprised you didn't trip over her, actually. She's still asleep."

Martaila sighed, stretched, and then stalked over to the cave. Sure enough, Reya was inside, sleeping fitfully. "Reya," Martaila murmured, nudging her lightly. "Wake up."

The maid opened bleary eyes, looking distinctly unhappy. Finally, in a small voice she said, "I don't want to."

"Reya, my dear, we can't stay here," Martaila said quietly. "We'll have to leave soon, set up life somewhere else."

Reya sniffed and rubbed a tear out of her eye. "I don't like this," she muttered. "Why didn't you tell me, my lady? No disrespect meant, but I—" her lip quivered. "I don't want to die!"

Martaila sighed again, wiping a thumb gently under Reya's eye. "There's no need for melodramatics. We are not going to die. I promise you."

Reya sighed, sagging. "Really?" she asked, sounding like a little girl. "What'll happen to us, my lady?"

Martaila didn't answer, rubbing the rough stone of the cave idly with her finger. "Go back to sleep, Reya," she said at last. "I'll wake you up when breakfast is ready."

The maid nodded, huddling deeper within her cocoon of blankets. Martaila groaned and rubbed a hand over her own eyes before stalking out to where Neal still sat, poking the fire.

"I can go hunt if you watch over this," Neal said, glancing at her. "Shouldn't take too long."

"No, not here," Martaila grunted, sitting down heavily. "We're too close to Uru'baen. Better make do with our stores."

Neal shrugged. It was a cool morning, light and brisk for a late spring day, and there was enough of a wind to feel uncomfortable. "Well, where'll we go?" he asked, warming his hands by the fire. "Gil'ead? Teirm? Surda?"

Martaila tapped her chin with a thoughtful finger, thinking. "You know, Neal, we might go to Kuasta."

"Kuasta?" Neal looked up with a skeptical expression on his face. "What about that?"

"My mother is from Kuasta," Martaila explained. "They're Kuasta bred and born, until Mother broke the line by running away to Uru'baen. Didn't I tell you? Anyway, it's remote, out there, and it's also hidden behind mountains."

Neal looked dubious. "Wouldn't it be safer to go to Surda? Or to the Varden?"

"If we can find them at all," Martaila pointed out. "Gods know where they are. Hidden somewhere in the Beor Mountains, I expect."

"Still, isn't Kuasta in the empire—"

Neal stopped halfway, staring intently at a necklace that hung around Martaila's neck. In a hushed voice, he said, "Martaila? What _is_ that thing—"

Martaila felt at her neck, jerking the necklace off. She stared at it intently, eyes half-slitted in concentration. The normally clear crystal hanging at the end had a raging maelstrom of colors with it, shifting with a strange, pulsing brilliance.

"What?" Neal said softly, his voice hushed with awe. "But who of Silica is left to contact you?" he asked quietly, voicing the question Martaila had. "Only a magicker can do that…"

"Only Henrides Miyan is left," Martaila said with a frown, staring intently into the crystal. "But why…?"

She tapped it with a finger, speaking the receiving words. "Eka kaenave sor fesl, cair son eka thrystan hljodhr." I hear and accept, and may our conversation be kept in silence.

The image darkened momentarily, then flared into life. Ides's face swam into view. Martaila frowned down at him, puzzled. "What is it, Miyan?" she asked slowly.

The magicker seemed harried, occupied. "There's been trouble, lady," he said, his eyes anxious. "You have to come back, Martaila, at once. Bring Peregrine with you."

"Why?" Neal asked, moving alongside her, peering into the crystal.

"I can't answer your question now, there's no time," Ides said, looking frantic, shaking his head. "Just come—to the the woods—where we hid you before—no—"

He broke off abruptly, his face twisted as if in pain. The colors muddied, distorted, and faded into darkness.

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Inside his cell, Ides dropped, gasping weakly as the heat blazing through his chest twisted once, violently, then faded. He turned his head, curling up, retching until his stomach could bring up no more.

"Now really, Ides," Galbatorix admonished in a voice of mocking kindness. "It wasn't that bad, was it? So easy. It took all of five minutes, once you stopped fighting me."

Ides couldn't answer, his body pulsing with echoes of the blazing inner fire of torture. Finally, in a choked, desperate voice, he said, "She won't fall for it."

"Are you so certain of that?" Galbatorix purred. "Interesting devices, these necklaces. You little children at Silica have done _so_ much to make them tamper-proof. They tear apart any illusion I've tried to build, require the ancient language to be activated, and are almost completely indestructible…"

He leaned forward. "But I'll tell you something. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link…and you, dear boy, are the weakest link. You held out for two hours…I must say, I am impressed. But you can't hope to withstand me. Not that I'm boasting, of course."

Galbatorix straightened, nodding to the guards. "Take him back to the cell, would you?"

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Martaila fingered the crystal thoughtfully, a pensive expression on her face. "That didn't sound like Miyan," she said slowly.

"He looked like he—he wanted to tell you something else," Neal put in, frowning. "Maybe it's a trick?"

"That's impossible," Martaila said, shaking her head. "If you knew just how much blasted effort was put into these necklaces to make them completely hack-proof, you wouldn't say that…and there's no way, absolutely none, that Miyan would…" she hesitated. "If he had a choice, I'm sure he would've chosen death over betrayal."

Neal's eyes watched her, darkening slightly. "What if he was tortured like Jacob was?" he inquired softly. "Jacob's torture was public…if Miyan was put under something like that, if _you_ were put under something like that—"

"I'd break," Martaila finished, feeling a dull weight settle upon her shoulders.

She sighed. "What do you think we should do, Neal?"

He shrugged. "It looks like a trap. Every single word was hard for him to say, you know? Something's not right about it."

Martaila shook her head slowly. "Our last hiding spot is _crawling_ with soldiers. I have to agree…something's not right. On the other hand, perhaps that is the only specific meeting he knew. I don't know. I think that Miyan and Silica _are_ in trouble, though. That part is true. What kind of trouble, I don't know."

She straightened with a sigh, looking directly at Neal. "Miyan was a good friend to me, Neal. If he's in trouble, I'm not going to leave him to rot. I'll do as he said, but…"

"Be careful," Neal said slowly. He was silent for a moment, then looked up at her. "Well, let's go then."

Martaila glanced at him, incredulous. "You're not coming, Neal."

He smiled derisively at her. "What, because I'm _too valuable_ to be risked? I don't believe that, Martaila. Even if I _am_ 'too valuable', so what? Silica is gone. What am I supposed to do, sit around like a good lapdog for a nonexistent hope?"

"Neal—" Martaila began, already knowing it was useless. They locked gazes, contesting each other silently.

Martaila looked away first. He was eighteen now, and could no longer be intimidated by her nastiest glare. _It must itch him to be doing nothing on the sidelines, safely tucked away while his peers die one by one,_ she thought sadly.

"Fine," she said at last. "What about Reya, though?"

"You should've dumped her back in Uru'baen," Neal said, shaking his head. "All she does is whine and weep."

"You should be kinder to her," Martaila snapped back.

"I _was_," Neal said coolly. "Until she started calling me a bastard conceived in wine and clawed out of some street slut."

"Reya—" Martaila began before realizing it was useless again. Reya and Neal had never got along, with Reya commenting spitefully on Neal's shadowy origins, and Neal sniping coldly at her delicate ladylike ways.

"Whatever," she finally said, exasperated. "I'll ask her to stay here for the time being, is that all right with you?"

Neal grinned at the frazzled look on her face. "Of course. Thank you, Marta."

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The cell door slammed open with a colossal bang, sending wisps of hay flying. Salem and Murtagh both rose, watching the doorway warily.

"Connac?" Salem breathed, staring at the soldier who entered, searching for his face.

The light played over the soldier's face, and the features were too sharp, the jaw too squared to be Connac. The unknown man turned to Murtagh, a look of slight apology on his face. "Our mistake, sir," he said, his voice deep and reverbrating. "Sergeant Chandler was a bit overeager yesterday. We have gotten orders for your release."

"Me—?" Murtagh said, glancing quickly at Salem. "How?"

"Orders from the emperor," the soldier said with a deep bow. "We apologize, sir," he said. "You are free to go."

"What about her?" Murtagh said, pointing at Salem.

The soldier shrugged. "We have received no orders concerning her. She will kept until further notice."

"And that means…?" Salem said faintly.

"Until we receive instruction," the soldier declared, not unkindly but also firmly. He nodded to Murtagh. "Please step out of the cell."

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_End of Chapter Thirty-One_

I always feel kind of guilty when I don't give Murtagh his fair due, but he had the last three chapters all to himself (and Salem), so I'd thought I'd update on everybody else first.

The end is seriously near now. I'm betting 6 chappies max, and ending in four if lucky. Or unlucky. Who knows?

**And here are your promised responses :)**

**Alsdssg: **Ha! Well, sticking all my main characters in jail is my proudest accomplishment, lol! Well, it IS called Thorn and MISERY. :P

**ChatterPuncher**: Why, thank you! Yes, it is Galbatorix, the evil git. :growl:

**DragonRider2000**: Hrrm. In answer to your question, you have to remember that Murtagh is _very_ tired. He couldn't even use a simple malthinae spell to keep Salem immobile, so I doubt he could summon up anything fancy like brisingr or jierda or whatever. Also, he's cross and not thinking too rationally…which is why he didn't show his gedwey ignasia. The soldiers probably wouldn't have recognized it even if he had. Remember, Riders have been gone for a long time, and all that are left are myths about the oh-so-powerful Galbytorix.

**Fallonaiya Sedai**: Hah! Mom likes to tell this horror story about a thunderstorm and how it completely FRIED her friend's computer black. I think it's hilarious, actually, but she believes in it. Well, to each their own.

Salem beat Murtagh up? Nooooooo! Salem, you're supposed to be falling in love with him! Don't beat him up! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!

Murtagh: She couldn't beat me up anyway. But kissing? Isn't that going a little too far?

Salem: (to Murtagh) Oh yeah? You want to have a go at it? We'll see who beats up who. (to me) Are you insane?

Me: Noo…:sniff: Just a romantic.

_It is remarkable how the path of love is so similar to the path of insanity_The Merogivian (or whatever, it's a quote from the Matrix Revolution or something like that…I love that trilogy!)

**Tarwen Svit-Kona: **Yes, I consider chappie 30 the hardest chapter to write in this whole fanfic. You will not believe how long I slaved over the stupid thing. Thank you for your encouragement :)

**Silver sliver**: AH-HA! There you are! I was wondering just a bit when you didn't pop up…you made me cry for a second there! And thank you, it DID take me a really long time to write after all…don't you just adore Murtagh/Salem fluff? They are so capably sarcastic together. My only worry is that they're a little bit too ooc.

**Useless**: Interesting penname. Thank you!

**Aurora: **I'm not going to do a Thorn scene yet, it doesn't fit in with the mainstream plot. They (Thorn and Murtagh) **will** have a couple scenes together before the Burning Plains, but it might not be what you expect. :dramatic music playing:

**Its.Garnet.Time**: Actually, I think the pigeons died in the typhoon, which makes me kind of relieved and also kind of sad at the same time because I liked having an excuse to wave a broom out a window. I mean, I live sixteen stories up, how often do you get to do that? Any other time my sister would scream at me to _stop hanging out the window!_ but she hates the pigeons just as much as I do. But now they're gone, and I miss their obnoxious cooing.

Super Annie slurring up the fanfic? Nah, Super Annie is not allowed to write fanfics, because all Super Annie is good for is hijacking other people's articles and messing them up. Writing fanfics is the job of my lazy good-for-nothing muses, urged on by The Evil Cockroach that lives in my head. Me (normal me) comes when the chapter is done and does the review responses, then goes and posts it on the net. And then AFTER that…I have too many alternate identities…it's hard to keep track of them all.

**Gewher**: Aw, that is SO sweet:) Yes, guys are definitely like that. I knew this guy once…oh, man, it's not like he was THAT cute but one look and I'd start to feel all soppy. And then when he—yeah, you probably get the idea, don't you. :sigh:

I have a pretty definite idea of where this plot is going to go by now, but suggestions are welcome! Prepare for a raid on your brain very soon, conducted by the hypnotic rays that are emanating out of your computer screen as you read this. Bwahahaa.

**Mrs Pierre Bouvier**: Well, it seems to me that the more effort I jam into chapters the better they turn out. It took me less than two hours to complete _this_ chapter, and I'm rather dissatisfied with it. Oh, well.

**Mistress-of-Misery**! He's 19? Where'd you get that? We know that Murtagh is a couple years older than Eragon, and Eragon is about 17/18ish by the time the Burning Plains rolls around…hm, hm. Oh, well. I guess I could twiddle it a bit, all in the name of artistic license!


	32. Chapter 32

**Once again, review responses have been moved to the back! Thanks to everyone who reviewed, you guys are amazing. :hugs:**

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_4/4/101_

Salem paced the length of the narrow jail, furious and sick with nerves. _They let him go_, she thought viciously, nails digging into her palms. _Did he know this? Did he! By the gods, if he did, I'll wring his neck myself!_

_But no…_she reconsidered, staring moodily at the barred window, high above her head. _He looked as surprised as you did, Salem, didn't he? And what would be the point, to keep him overnight? There _is_ none, and you know it…consider it damn bad luck. _

Salem sighed, rubbing her eyes tiredly as she slid to the ground. She hadn't slept all night, and weariness was beginning to drag at her bones.

She threw one last look at the small rectangle of sunlight visible through the window. _Gods, you don't know how much you miss it until it's gone,_ she reflected slowly, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

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Martaila circled around to the edge of the woods, Neal in the trees up above her. She snorted slightly, shaking her head—if she didn't know better, she'd swear he had monkey blood in his veins.

Right on cue, he dropped gently into the grass in front of her, not even making a rustle as he landed. Martaila started, then closed her eyes. "Neal. That's not funny."

"There are soldiers _everywhere_, Marta," he said softly, his dark face serious. "There's a circled camp up ahead, with at least forty or fifty soldiers. This has 'trap!' written all over it."

Martaila blew out her breath slowly, considering. "It's far too obvious to be a trap. With so many soldiers, we can easily avoid them. No, there's something else here. Those soldiers are a diversion, maybe, but they're not the actual trap. Have you seen any sight of Miyan?"

"No," Neal said.

Martaila bit her lip. "Well, the soldiers are about three hundred yards away from where Miyan said to meet. Three hundred yards to the east. Neal, be careful, all right, but please try to go ahead. See if you can find Miyan in any way."

Neal frowned slightly, but he nodded, clambering easily up into the trees again. His nondescript tan breeches and tunic blended in well with the forestry, throwing light shadows onto him. Martaila sighed, watching him go.

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Neal eyed the distance to the next branch before taking it, pulling himself up into a higher bough. At this height, unless he was extremely clumsy or extremely unlucky, no one could catch him.

Three hundred yards east was a challenge, especially when it meant jumping through tree after tree. Twice, a soldier passed directly under the branch he was sitting on, so close Neal could've tapped them with his foot. They never even noticed him.

_It's amazing how many people don't look up for an intruder_, he thought, shaking his head.

Neal sighed. Marta was a little overprotective of him, and lately that had grown to be rather annoying. Yes, she had his best interests at heart, but he was sick of hiding out in some corner for a misbegotten hope. _The whole thing was doomed from the start, _he thought sourly. _Besides, just because my father was some Rider or the other doesn't mean that _I _could be one. Not that there was any hope from the beginning. The last dragon egg was too tightly protected, too tightly hidden._

_But_, he added reflectively as he emerged into a clearing, _it gave them something to hope for. Something to strive for._

Neal shook his thoughts away, his eyes raking the clearing for any sign of Miyan, soldiers, or in fact a single human being. There was nobody there, but Neal could see a subtly arranged pattern of debris—a (very) rough outline of a bird, the symbol of Silica. It pointed towards the northwest.

"So you want us to chase you?" he muttered quietly to himself, examining the bird from his perch in the tree. "This is going to be fun. I'd better find Marta."

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Martaila tilted her head, acting perfectly casual as she judged the sounds behind her. There was somebody lurking behind her, and doing a rather bad job at hiding.

A snap of the twig right behind her. Martaila twisted, kicking her assailant squarely in the knee. He—no, she! fell down. Quick as a cat, Martaila jumped forward, gagging the woman's screams with her hand.

"_Reya?"_ Martaila gasped, rolling off.

The maid didn't answer, staring up at the sky with huge eyes. "I didn't mean it, my lady," she wailed in a panicky whisper. "Don't leave me, don't leave me, please, don't—"

"Reya!" Martaila hushed with a sharp look. "Reya, what are you doing here? I'm not going to shout. You just surprised me, that's all."

The maid got shakily to her knees, her lip quivering as a sure sign of tears. "My lady," she said in a shaky whimper, "Why don't we leave? Why are we still here? My lady, let's go! Please—"

"Oh, no," a voice said in disgust. "What are _you_ doing here, Reya?"

Martaila sighed in resignation and looked up into the trees. "Neal. Did you find him or not?"

"No," Neal said, a sharp look of contempt on his face as he stared down at Reya.

The maid sniffled and looked up, her gaze equally scornful. "The only one who could've put my lady up to this is some slut's bastard," she said coldly. "They have no sense of propriety or normalcy."

"Neal," Martaila said warningly, shaking her head. His jaw worked, and it was a long time before he spoke.

"I didn't find him," he said at last, his voice flat. "Just a marker pointing towards the northwest."

Martaila groaned, rubbing her face. Neal and Reya were glaring daggers at each other, mutinous expressions on their faces. It was time for drastic measures.

Martaila reached up, standing up onto her toes to add an extra four inches to her height. She grabbed Neal's shirt, sending him tumbling down to the floor.

Keeping a grip on him, she reached over to Reya, pulling them both close together. "Listen to me, you two," she said tightly. "Stop fighting. I don't care what insults you may have traded, but the fact of it is that we are going to die if you don't pull it together. There are soldiers out there, and they are not deaf. Do you understand me?"

She shook them both slightly before letting them go. Both of them gave her shocked glances, and she gritted her teeth. "You don't have to kiss and make up, but a handshake will do."

Grudgingly, they shook. It was the briefest handshake Martaila had ever seen in her life, more a flutter of the fingers than anything. She shook her head. "That will do. Now, Neal. What were you saying again?"

"A marker towards the northwest," he said, tearing his glare away from Reya. "Maybe Miyan's there."

"My lady," Reya burst in, "please don't get yourself killed, there are other—"

Martaila turned to Reya, laying a firm hand on her shoulder. "Reya, my dear, this is something I must do," she said gravely. "Please, stay here. It is safer for you."

Reya's lip trembled, but she nodded, folding her hands in her lap.

"Neal," Martaila said, "let's go."

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Neal dropped down from the trees after a while; it was easier to proceed on foot. They followed a line due northwest, always on a watch for soldiers or other markers. "How much longer do we have to go?" Neal asked softly, watchfully observing the forest.

Martaila stopped abruptly, narrowing her eyes. "Do you hear that, Neal?" she asked suddenly, looking around.

There was a faint rustle a few feet away, like the shuffling of feet on mast. "Stay here," Martaila said quietly, brushing the covering of leaves away.

There was a man standing just ahead, his right side towards them. Martaila recognized him instantly, breathing a sigh of relief. "Miyan," she said. Turning back slightly, she called, "Neal, you can come out."

She turned back to Miyan, who hadn't turned or even reacted at their presence. Martaila took a slow step forward, a sense of unease stirring within her. Something was wrong. "Miyan?"

She touched his shoulder lightly. He gasped, his eyes flicking towards her, his body not moving a single inch. His expression, though—it was screaming at her, _go, go, go!_

"Neal!" Martaila screamed, whirling around, knowing that it was useless. "Neal, get out of here!"

She gasped, turning back around as three arrows whistled through the air, burying themselves in Miyan's chest. He stumbled, then fell.

_It's a trap_, Martaila thought, numb. _We walked right into it._

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Soldiers were appearing everywhere as illusions shattered. The real army wasn't behind them—they were hidden as trees, concealed as rocks, blending into hedges. They formed a circle around them, binding them in.

And out of all of them, _he_ was there too, a smug smile on his face as he surveyed his trap. He knew he had them.

_And there will be a third Rider,_ Martaila thought, sick with nerves. _He'll use Neal, use Neal's heritage and make him the third Rider. He'll never be overthrown now._

No. That couldn't happen. That _wouldn't _happen.

Martaila was vaguely aware of Galbatorix speaking, gloating about his latest victory. The words didn't fully reach her brain; they were just random, garbled sounds.

She had a knife tucked into her skirt; she pulled that out now as she grabbed Neal's shirt. He looked startled, shocked, as she drew the knife across his throat.

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Astonishment swept across Galbatorix's face, followed by a sharp, growing anger. In one single move, she had demolished his hope for his second Rider, destroyed his easiest way to crush the Varden, and worst of all, delayed his dream of the Empire. "You—" he whispered, half-stunned, his gaze locked on Martaila's. "What—you—"

She stood there, breathing hard, tears glinting at the edges of her eyes. The bloody knife dropped from her hand into the grass to lay there unnoticed. How dare she stand there? How dare she be defiant, _he would not be challenged!_

Galbatorix opened his hand, letting raging black fire blaze from his hand, swallowing the woman in a cloak of flames. He watched her burn, anger seething viciously in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't enough. Her death, her pain, none of it was enough to repay what she had taken from him.

Around the clearing, the soldiers stood immobile, watching the bonfire sputter, then fall into a heap of ashes. Martaila was nowhere to be seen.

Galbatorix strode over to Neal's dead body, studying the still, pale face. The dead could not be revived, that was true. But in his head, Galbatorix knew that he would hear their unidentifiable, drifting calls.

_Damn_.

He turned to the captain. "Bury him," he ordered coldly, and strode back in the direction of the palace.

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_End of Chapter Thirty-Two_

So. Ahem.

Since Silica is basically eradicated, I'll be moving onto Murtagh/Salem's perspective soon enough. I know I'm a hideous liar when it comes to time schedules, but I have it all planned out now—there will be four more chapters until the end. :cough cough: Okay, okay, give or take one or two. Or three. It depends on how things go. I have decided (at the moment) to end this story at the Burning Plains, because it's seriously getting kind of long anyway. I might change my mind, but don't count on it.

Um…I was going to say something else. Oh, yeah. I'm going to be going on vacation next week, so there probably won't be an update. I will seriously **try** to get one up, but the odds are 4:1 against (I have no idea how I calculated that, by the way).

Also, do you guys need an explainer chapter at the end? Because some people were telling me the plot was too diffcult to grasp, I thought about making a supplementary chapter to lay out everything when I'm done with the main story. Tell me in your reviews! And yes, this is a not-so-subtle ploy to get more reviews. :wink:

**Its.Garnet.Time**: Ah, don't be so scared…I mean, planes aren't all THAT bad. It's not like it's the end of the tunnel or something. Or…is it:DUN DUN DUN:

**Alsdssg: **Nope, not a single shred of Murtagh here. Bwahaha, I'm evil. Next chapter will be devoted to him and his screaming fan club…or not. :cough:

**Gewher: **Well, sixteen floors isn't that bad, really. I mean, Taiwan (where I live) is hideously polluted, the result of cramming a couple million people onto a lousy island that's about the size of Maryland. So the people who live way down on the first floor have to deal with mosquitos, smog, and all sorts of fun stuff and things. Whee.

You don't have to worry about getting the characters from this fanfic mixed up with _Empire_. Three guesses why. OO

**DragonRider2000**: Sure! I know this fanfic ain't perfect, and there are parts everybody doesn't understand every once in a while. Glad to explain.

**Silver sliver**: Aww! Now I'm going to blush, and my ego has just inflated another three inches.

And sadly, yes, it is going to end soon. Man, I'm going to cry just out of sheer wistfulness when I write that last chapter, type that last reviewer response, and post it for one last time on the Internet! Oh! OH:sobs:

Well, it'll be a new experience, I guess. It makes me wonder what I'll do after this, though.

**Mistress-of-Misery**:sigh:

Once again, I bow to your sheer detailness and your sleuthy eye. I'm going to change Murtagh's age to 21, and Salem's to 19. I'm figuring that Eragon's about seventeenish, and they're roughly four years apart. That should fix it. O.o.

**Mrs Pierre Bouvier**: Yep, I'm very proud of my perserverence (sp?)! Every time I was tempted to slack off, I remembered just how much I hated writers who would lag off in the middle of the story. Then my conscience would kick me and I'd be forced to write. Blech.

**Fallonaiya Sedai**: Well, the plot is beginning to wind down, with me killing off most of the characters and all. :blinks: Wow, I'm evil.

**K.A.T. Hiwatari:** Wow, thanks for your (many) reviews! What's wrong with a Salem/Murtagh romance! Well, okay, you're not the first person to say it wouldn't be the best match, but _I_ would like a romance…:sniff:

As for your request, well, I'm going on vacation so I don't know when I can get on a computer next, but I will try to get it to you by next week if possible. See you then!


	33. Chapter 33

Once again, reviewer responses are at the back! That's where they're going permanently so I don't have to keep on typing this reminder out. :P

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_4/4/101_

Connac tapped his fingers against his desk, staring fixedly at a sheaf of thick reports. They bore lists of names, the roster of new recruits for the Royal Army.

He sighed, shaking his head as he redid his calculations. The number of recruits was increasing steadily, jumping about two hundred percent over the last two months.

_Why the sudden increase_? he wondered, shaking his head. _For all the years I've been in the army, it's never grown this much. And yet, the cost of basic training for each recruit is dropping…if they get any lower, then these recruits won't even know how to use a pitchfork, for gods' sake!_

There were a dozen reasons, but all of them basically boiled down to one term—war. War with the Varden.

_Not that I'm against that,_ he added fervently, _but this—this is ridiculous. These recruits might as well just kill themselves now rather than go out onto a battlefield and die there. They're not _prepared

A knock on the door made him jump. Connac looked up at the messenger, frowning slightly. "Ah. Private..." he squinted for the soldier's dog tag. "Private Adern. What is it?"

The soldier stood stiffly at attention, staring at a point above Connac's head. "Duty rosters, informational updates, and blueprints, sir!" he shouted. "Captain Healey wishes to update you on this garrison's news, sir!"

Connac nodded absently, taking the tightly rolled bunch of papers in Adern's hands. "At ease, private," he said. "Does Captain Healey want a response?"

"No, sir!" the soldier yelled.

"Dismissed," Connac said, already rifling idly through the papers. The soldier snapped a smart salute and trotted off down the stairs.

Connac barely noticed, pausing at the page containing the garrison's log. It was written in concise, crisp shorthand, containing notes of the city patrol's innings and outings. Back at the gate guard, Connac, as the leading captain there, had kept such a log himself.

_Kretz/Blackfire transfer…noon patrol…disturbance near Yelder Street…gray seal reported, emperor admitted, Cpt. Blackfire gone…_Connac lifted an eyebrow, seeing that it was updated up-to-the-minute._ They even got in what Chandler's and Stason's troops did near the fire last evening_.

His finger paused near one listing in miniscule print. 18:30. prsnr cptrd 2, m/f. No. 113 c, night. b. E/N 

Connac closed his eyes. Two prisoners captured, one male and one female in cell 113, to keep there overnight. Both of them worthy of notice and investigation by royal decree…_Any mention of names? _

He was being paranoid. What were the chances it could possibly be Salem? It was absurd; he had no proof…but yet, his instincts screamed that it was his sister.

Praying fervently that he was wrong, his gaze flicked down the list. There were the mentionings of the midnight patrol, another brawl, several drunkards stowed away. He frowned, stopping at one of the most recent listings. _What is this? _

07:00, mgr. w/ prdn, 4/3/101 20:34 M. Ord rl, Sgt. D. Gyn prsd. File Prdn arch. 3/4, 13.

and a few entries underneath—

08:45, 4/3/101 20:34 M Rl, wpn rtrnd. Sgt. D. Gyn prsd.

A messenger with a pardon had arrived for the male prisoner taken yesterday. An order of release, with Sergeant Daryus Gyn presiding. At 8:45, the prisoner had been released. _All right, but what about the female? What happened to her?_

He frowned, looking at the hourglass above his desk. It was just after the thirty-seventh mark, signaling that it was somewhere around 09:15, roughly half an hour after the release of the male.

Connac dived back into the mass of papers, searching for the blueprints of the garrison. _Cell 113...ah, there we go_.

The layout of this particular garrison was surprisingly similar to the gate barracks, with only a few minor alterations here and there. He located Cell 113 after a few minutes of searching. Standing, Connac folded the blueprints up and stowed it in his pocket.

He stretched with a slow groan, shaking his head. _If that's you in cell 113, Salem…well, I hope to all the gods it's not_.

He closed the door quietly behind him and trotted down the stairs, emerging into the bright sunshine of the garrison training grounds.

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The soldiers politely but firmly deposited Murtagh just outside the garrison, dumping into a part of the city with which he was utterly unfamiliar. He paced outside for a while, his thoughts and emotions seething with disquiet.

What was he supposed to do now? Galbatorix had left no instructions on how to proceed afterwards, and he certainly hadn't left anything resembling a map. During his adolescence, Murtagh had never strayed far from the palace and the woods surrounding it.

He wandered uncertainly in front of the entrance, staring inside. Salem didn't deserve to be left to the mercy of Galbatorix, not anymore than Eragon or anybody else did. _I broke Eragon out of Gil'ead,_ he thought, struck by a sudden ray of inspiration. _Why can't I free Salem here?_

Even as he thought it he knew it was hopeless. The army was rigidly divided, and it was usually the most elite and loyal soldiers that were transferred to defend Uru'baen itself. Outlying cities like Gil'ead and Teirm got soldiers who were drunkards on their days off, and could be bribed for the price of a bucket of ale. In Uru'baen, that kind of soldier didn't exist.

Murtagh sighed and resumed pacing, staring at the great iron gates before him. The soldiers guarding it stared back at him impassively, faultless in their military discipline. _Another example of Uru'baen perfectness_, he thought sourly.

The easiest thing to do would be just to turn around and leave. Go on with what miserable life he had. Try to find Thorn. There were lots of things he could do with his time, but he couldn't convince himself to leave.

_And just why is that? _Murtagh frowned.

He knew the answer. Salem, for all her idiocies, reminded him just faintly of Eragon—she was stubborn, curious, dedicated—

—_insane— _a corner of his mind interjected.

_Sanity is only a state of mind_, Murtagh retorted, hiding a faint smile inside. As he thought that, Murtagh grimaced, shaking his head at his own folly. _And now I'm talking to myself_.

Honestly, though, if he couldn't abandon Eragon, then the principles he had held his entire life—_protect yourself and what you cherish—_held him to Salem in the same way.

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Connac was waylaid halfway across the training ground by a couple of his men concerning leave of absences and regimental orders. He sorted them out, stowing away a mental note in his mind to issue new training schedules the next day. That cleared, he continued towards the winding staircase that led to the lower levels of the barracks.

It took him a while to realize that somebody was shouting his name. Connac turned, half-startled, searching for the source of the voice. He relaxed as Captain Healey ran up to him, his dark face flushed. "Blackfire!" he panted. "Did you get my files?"

Connac grinned. "Yes, I did, and thank you."

"Good," Healey said, straightening himself. "I've been looking all over for you. Adern only just came back a few minutes ago, and I sent him out with the files at least fifteen minutes before. I don't know what took him so long. Anyway, I want to start reorganizing the patrols to incorporate your men, now that Kretz has gone for good. There's a morning patrol due at noon, and I've only got five men on the duty roster right now."

He stopped, noting the hesitation on Connac's face. "Is something wrong, Blackfire?"

Connac paused, studying Adrian Healey's face. Connac knew very little about the other captain, but he was known to be a fair, methodical man who didn't play favorites. Still, Connac sensed instinctively that telling him about Salem and/or the prisoner in cell 113 would be unwise.

"Nothing," Connac replied belatedly, offering an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that. I can work up the schedules now, yes."

Healey eyed him a moment longer, then nodded. "My office is right above the entrance gate. Come with me."

Connac followed him, both of them walking in companionable silence. Healey's office wasn't much bigger than Connac's, but the view was better, opening out into the sprawling middle-class sections of the city. Connac took a moment to appreciate the view, grinning sociably at Healey. "It's beautiful."

"One of the best things about this job," Healey nodded, pulling up a chair. "Every time I start to get a headache, I just look out that window and remember who I'm doing this for—Uru'baen, and her people. There's a difference between hearing about it and knowing it." He paused for a moment, then shrugged.

Connac took in the sweeping city with approval, watching the citizens go about their daily business. He was about to pull back when he caught sight of a man hanging around the barrack entrance, a strangely familiar man. He leaned forward with a frown.

"Blackfire?" Healey's voice drifted out from behind him.

Connac blinked, then looked again. That man, what was he doing here? The man who came looking for Salem…what was his name again? Or had he never said?

"Blackfire?"

Connac pulled his head hastily from the window, turning to Healey. "Um…nothing," he said quickly. "Just—Healey, will you excuse me? I need to take care of something."

Healey gave him an odd look. "How long do you need?"

"Uh…" Connac glanced quickly at the hourglass on the wall. "Um, when the sand reaches the forty-oneth mark." It was right before the thirty-eighth mark—09:30.

Healey nodded slowly, a puzzled frown on his face. "All right. Do you need help, Blackfire?"

"No," called Connac over his shoulder, already sprinting for the door. He twisted the handle and was gone.

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Murtagh was glaring a hole into the iron tracery of the gate when a man approached out of the corner of his eye. The man paused to speak with one of the soldiers, who nodded after a moment. Moving forward, the soldier opened a smaller gate to the side, letting the man out.

"Captain Blackfire," Murtagh said warily in recognition.

Blackfire nodded in a weary sort of way. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice low and urgent. "Where is she?"

Murtagh stared at him, taken aback. "Where is who?"

Blackfire took a step forward, his expression sharp and angry. "Don't play coy with me. You went out to find Salem, and now I find you pacing before these gates. The logs spoke of two prisoners apprehended, and one was released. _What is going on_?"

Murtagh stared back for a moment, and his voice hardened. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Captain."

Their eyes locked, engaging in a silent test of the wills. Still glaring at Murtagh, Blackfire said heatedly, "Did you find her or not?"

"Why do you care to know? She's a fugitive, on run from the law," Murtagh said coldly. "_You_ on the other hand, you're a captain of the royal army, command of a hundred of the king's men. An upstanding citizen like you should be glad of evil family influences."

Blackfire flinched at this statement and looked away. Murtagh exhaled a slow breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Finally, Blackfire shook his head.

"It was a long time ago…look, I don't even know your name, or who you are, or anything. Just tell me…what are you doing here? Have you succeeded in finding her? Is—is she all right?"

His gaze flicked back to Murtagh's, somber gray eyes meeting Murtagh's own hazel squarely.

Murtagh wavered. He didn't know if he could trust Blackfire, and it went along with the rules of logic that he shouldn't tell him a single thing. Blackfire could be a spy or fanatically loyal to Galbatorix. He could ruin what fragile plans Murtagh had constructed and whisk Salem off to a premature and painful death.

_Siblings_, the thought struck him suddenly. _It all comes down to what loyalty blood can hold. Salem and this man are on different sides of this silent war, just like…just like Eragon and I. Would Eragon destroy me when the time comes? Could I bring myself to destroy him?_

A sharp pain welled up in his heart suddenly at the thought of his brother. _Could I?_

With a sigh, he turned his thoughts back to the captain. Blackfire stood there patiently, a look of hope, struggle, and uncertainty written in his face.

"I managed to find Salem." Murtagh spoke the words quickly and bluntly, spitting them out before he could change his mind. "She's all right, just a little battered. I was released this morning by royal decree, but she's still back in the jail cell. They said they wouldn't release her until further notice…" he trailed off.

Blackfire let out a long, slow breath before finally nodding. "I see."

"And what will you now, Captain?" Murtagh inquired quietly.

Blackfire shrugged. "I don't know. I—I don't want to see her die, or suffer the torture she's sure to get. It's never a good sign when a sentence is postponed indefinitely; almost always, it ends in questioning and death. But to release her would be to break my oaths to the Emperor, and I…" He shook his head slowly, his eyes searching Murtagh's face.

Whatever Blackfire found, it lifted some of his black mood. The captain smiled ruefully. "I wish you better luck than Salem and I did," he said softly.

"What?" Murtagh asked, startled.

"I know where Salem is held, and I can get you access," Blackfire said, his gaze fixed on Murtagh's. "They will not question you if you are with me."

_How did he know?_ Murtagh wondered, taken aback. _Did I show it that much? Was I truly that obvious?_

There was no lie in Blackfire's face, none that he could detect. Murtagh studied him a moment longer. Even though it felt like cheating, he touched the captain's mind lightly with his own, and was surprised to find that it was solidly blocked.

A faint smile brushed Blackfire's lips. "All officers above lieutenant learn that trick," he said. "Otherwise, there's too much top-secret information in the air. Any magicker could discover everything with an errant poke in an officer's mind."

Murtagh flushed, slightly red with embarrassment. He nodded apologetically. "Sorry."

Blackfire nodded wordlessly, accepting the apology. "I won't lose Salem. Not again," he said quietly.

Murtagh opened his mouth, closed it, then nodded. "All right," he said. "Lead on, Captain."

"It's Connac," the captain said.

Murtagh hesitated, then nodded his acceptance. "Murtagh."

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Salem was lost in depressing, musing thought, her imagination beginning to conjure up the most gristly images. Now that Murtagh was gone, her mind was free to invent as many painful daymares as it wished.

When not filled with images of brands and cat-o-nine-tails and whatnot, her thoughts continually drifted back to Murtagh. Who was he, really? During their companionable conversations of the night before, they had talked very little about their histories or pasts or anything like that, but the way he acted and talked told her more than enough. _He'd been with the Varden_, she thought, leaning against the wall. _And I bet he had the time of his life there_.

Salem grinned despite herself, then shook her head at her own idiocy. _It's past, now_, she thought, suddenly somber. _Past is past is past is past…_

_And now I'm going insane. Great. Just great._

Her hand brushed something on her neck, and Salem looked down in shock. She was touching the leather cords that were still looped around her neck, and more to the point the crystals hanging on their ends. _You're still here_? she thought in shock, pulling them both off. _Silica! Ides and Gen and Rina and Matiel—maybe I can talk to them, who knows? And maybe they can fish me out of this hellpit._

She rubbed them between her palms, trying to look nonchalant should a soldier pass her by. Leaning close to the crystal, she whispered, "Eka shakel sa Galbatorix…atra iet rinyi elha hórnya."

She leaned back, examining the crystal hopefully. It clouded with a maelstrom of colors, darkening and pulsing. When it cleared, there was—nothing.

"What?" Salem whispered, staring at it. "Why?"

If there was a single magicker left in the ranks of Silica, the crystal by all reason should work. If it didn't, there was only one possible explanation.

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A clink of heavy iron on another made her jump. Instantly, Salem's hands flew up to her neck, stashing the necklace back into her shirt. She jumped up, staring fiercely at the door. If she was being hauled off to torture, she would face it on her feet.

The door creaked open. Salem edged farther away, looking for an entrance in which to bolt. Then the man came into the light, and Salem felt her heart drop into her stomach. Of all the people—_Connac_?

"Salem," he breathed, stepping forward. "It _is_ you."

They stood looking at each other awkwardly, unsure of what to say. Before, danger and urgency had driven their brief conversations, but now…now, there was a lull, an uncomfortable silence in which neither could put words to. In that moment, Salem could remember with painful clarity the fight that had driven the two of them apart for so many years—it had been violent, with vicious blows by both sides, angry insults that struck deeply. It was something she couldn't forget or forgive easily even after so many years, and she saw that Connac felt the same.

A second man entered the cell during their hesitation, and Salem made a small sound of disbelief. "Murtagh? But you—and—how did you meet? I thought you hated Connac or distrusted him or—"

"There isn't any time," Connac said softly, holding up a hand to stop her. "We have to get you out of here."

Salem blinked. "I see," she murmured. She didn't move.

"Hurry," Murtagh said not unkindly, aware of the tension but firm despite it. "There's no time to lose."

The sound of his rough voice helped them both focus. Connac coughed slightly, then dug in his pockets, revealing a length of crumpled parchment. "You'll go out the same way we went in, Murtagh—only, here's an alternate branch that will lead you out of Uru'baen." He spread the paper out, tracing out a sketchwork of inked lines. "I'll double back and enter back into the barracks through the main gate. I'll make up some excuse and go back in. Both of you, take this route out of the city." He glanced at Murtagh and hesitated. "Salem—"

"I will," she said hurriedly, before both of them got sentimental.

Connac swallowed, then sighed. "Murtagh, I assume you have a duty at the palace—this road will take you back in."

He stood, handing the map to Murtagh. The other man took it, glancing at Salem. "We have to hurry, Salem."

Salem nodded, her gaze fixed on her brother. "Connac—" she began, then broke off.

"Go," he whispered. "Take care of yourself, Salem."

Her hand brushed his tentatively, and finally she managed to control her emotions long enough to reply. "I'm sorry, Connac."

"Me, too," he said, a soft sigh of regret.

Their hands broke away, and Salem followed Murtagh out of the cell.

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Salem was quiet as they walked. Murtagh watched her concernedly but didn't say anything as he led them into a narrow room, down a rickety and mildewed stairway, and finally lifting a manhole cover to drop them into a section of dark sewer. He gripped her hand, as much as to give her comfort as it was to prevent her from getting lost in the dark gutter.

He brought forth a small light, and it hovered before them, shedding a tiny glow that didn't extend farther than a few feet in every direction. It was enough to keep them from getting lost, provided that Murtagh didn't take a wrong turn anywhere.

They walked on in slow silence, before Salem finally broke it. "You never answered my question yesterday," she said quietly, her voice slightly hoarse. "Your brother…who is he? What's his name?"

Murtagh was silent for a while, never loosening his grip on her hand. "He's…well, all right. His name, it's Eragon. He's…well, he's a rebel too. I don't know where he is now, or what he's doing." He glanced at Salem, then looked away. "Connac…"

"He'll be fine," she said, deliberately overriding his words.

Murtagh nodded and reapplied himself to the map, his eyes scanning the lines of dark ink. Then he heard Salem say in a quieter voice, "I hope."

A soft sound, almost like a moan, drifted down the sewer. "What?" Murtagh muttered, his hand trailing to his belt knife, which had been returned to him that morning when he was released. His eyes swept the darkness, and with a flick of his hand he sent the weirlight forward. It bobbed gently ahead, showing nothing more than empty sewer.

"Must be a pipe or something," Salem said, touching his shoulder lightly. "Keep moving."

Murtagh hesitated, replaying the sound in his mind. There was something animal about it, closer to a dying creature than a creaky pipe. "Either way," he muttered, "be careful."

They continued down the sewer. Murtagh led them right, down the way that should branch out of the city. _Down about sixty paces, then take another right…_

The air grew staler and colder, the walls frosted with damp and mildew. Murtagh took the right turn, but then paused. "Something's wrong."

He traced the route with his finger. He could see a tunnel to his left, but according to the map there was supposed to be nothing there… _And why is the air getting colder? We should be rising now, going uphill._

Salem's face appeared to his left, pale and ghostly in the magicked light. Her eyes dropped down to the map, following the road set by his finger. "We're lost." It wasn't a question.

Murtagh closed his eyes, reaching out with his mind for any living presence, any hint that might tell him where the surface was. To his surprise, he realized that Thorn was close, very close. The barrier that blocked communication between them was no longer icy and impenetratable; there were holes beginning to appear in the fabric of the block. _Thorn?_

There was no response. Not yet.

"Come on," he whispered to Salem. "Thorn's near, he'll help us—"

"_Thorn?_" Salem hissed, digging in her heels. "Thorn as in Thorn the dragon? Have you remembered how much he hates my guts?"

Murtagh grinned, flushed and excited. "He doesn't hate you," he said quickly, casting with his thoughts. "Just…um…"

"Hates my guts," she said dryly.

Murtagh sighed, then turned to her. His left hand reached up, clasping hers tightly. "Salem, _you have to trust me_…Thorn is like me, an unwilling prisoner of Galbatorix. We were separated earlier, and each sent to our own respective tasks. Galbatorix put up a wall between us, and we couldn't communicate…but he's here now. And once I explain it to him, we can work on finding a way out of Uru'baen."

By a quirk of hereditary nature, Salem had hazel eyes in contrast to Connac's gray. Both of them, though, had the same penetrating stare that seemed to stare right through Murtagh, flaying him bare of all deception and lies.

And then she blinked, and Murtagh looked away with a sigh. "All right," she said quietly.

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Murtagh closed his eyes, scrutinizing the mental wall between him and Thorn, teasing at the weak holes in it, and loosening the connection open bit by bit. _Thorn?_ he called. _Thorn, where are you?_

Their footsteps echoed slightly as they padded down the sewer. Take a left…down the passageway…past two tunnels…take a right…

Murtagh stopped dead as the low moan sounded again, a cry of an animal in pain. Salem was right behind him as he jerked to a halt, his eyes scanning the darkness uncertainly.

_Thorn!_ he cried. _Thorn, where are you?_

"There!" Salem hissed. "Look at that—"

Up in the darkness ahead there was a strange glittering cloud, like a thousand tiny black opals shimmering faintly together. Murtagh's breath caught in his throat, and he dimmed his light. "What is that?"

His hand jerked convulsively, tightening on Salem's as he caught a glimpse of a smaller red gleam in the corner of the black one. _Thorn? They're scales, they must be—but the black cloud—_

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_End of Chapter Thirty-Three_

Hahaha, a cliffie for you! That was a fun chapter to write; I guess the week off spurred my muse to happy heights. Say hello to my reviewers, muses!

Muses: Yo.

Well, I had a lovely fun vacation, and it had the unfortunate effect of sucking a couple bazillion dollars out of our family budget. But we did go to lots of awesome places, including the Taipei 101 that is the tallest building in the world with (what else?) 101 stories. Erm, what else? Oh yeah, the Kenting Aquatic Museum was AWESOME, and there was this cool evolution exhibit and a deep sea exhibit and a sunken ship exhibit! What fun! Of course, I forgot everything mildly educational about the trip, but I have to say the puffins were REALLY cute.

**Read and review!**

And let me stop rambling and give you your **REVIEW RESPONSES! **

**Zer0Gravity: **Aw, don't worry. :p For a more concise response, check your email!

**Ariel32: **Hey, how was your vacation? Did you have fun visiting this lovely island? I'm glad you remembered to pop back in and review; I would've been broken hearted if you left me for good:grins:

**Silver sliver**: Yeah…I honestly didn't feel too guilty about writing Martaila and Neal off; they were only getting in the way. I mean, it was impossible for them to live because there's not the least mention of a third rider anywhere at the end of _Eldest_, so I couldn't let them live. I guess I probably killed off my best chance at a sequel to the story when I did that…but hey, no regrets.

You know, you are the positively **only** person who gave me an opinion on whether I should post an explainer chappie or not. :glares at everyone else: But yeah, even I get mixed up when it comes to organizing characters. I forgot specifics about them…you know, eye-color, hair color, last names, yak yak yak. And I'm the one who wrote them into existence in the first place. :kicks self in head:

**Amantine**: Thankees:tosses cookie: Oh, now everybody else wants a cookie too. OO

**Gewher**: There, there, don't cry. :pat pat: At risk of sounding cold-hearted and nasty, Neal was just getting in the way of the whole evil-plot-dictator thing. He had to be written out. :insert evil laugh here:

And as for Salem…

She won't die. But on that same note, she won't be seen past the end of this fanfic. On that happily enigmatic statement, I shall skip onto the next reviewer…

**The Keeper of the Key**: Well hey hey hey, what's the rush? I know, very few fics reach twenty or even thirty chappies, but believe me there are longer ones…the longest one I've ever seen was 70-some, I think. So, no rush. Don't worry. Be happy. :starts humming the song from that talking fish thing:

**Aurora: **It is to my extreme regret to say that Neal and Silica have gone bye-bye permanently. See, I plan to end this story at the Burning Plains, and I can't let anything that's in this fanfic to live past that time. So bye, Neal, ciao, adios.

**Coffee Grounds**: I know. I mean, if I had a broader timeline to work with, I just MIGHT have left poor Nealy-poo alive. Meh. But as circumstances go…

**Mistress-of-Misery: **Yes, I do plan to do something about Murtagh's bitterness/evil factor, which needs cranking. :pulls magic wand out of sleeve with dramatic flourish: And of course, this lousy piece of trash has nothing to do with it. :tosses wand into bin:

Your morbid imagination might just be right…but I do hope to surprise you again with the last few chapters. Well hey, who knows?

**K.A.T. Hiwatari: **Hey, have you forgotten all about your question ages ago about what Murtagh says in the English version of _Eldest?_ Here—I quote directly—

"_You cannot help me, Eragon. No one but Galbatorix can release us from our oaths, and he will never do that…He knows our true names, Eragon…we are his slaves forever."_

Waaah:sniffles: I hope this matches up with your Portugese version…honestly, there's nothing like reading a book in another language to make you cry all over again. I have the Chinese version of _Eldest_ as well as the English one, and I swear it has more impact.

**Alsdssg: **Yes, she did…well, put yourself in her shoes; I mean, honestly, what would you have done? She couldn't let another Rider grow up under Galbytorix's dictatorship…


	34. Chapter 34I

_4/4/101_

_Chapter 34, Part One_

The black shape advanced towards them, the red melting into its shadows. Salem's mind was screaming, ordering her body to _move, move, MOVE!_

But now she was frozen, one hand on the wall and the other squeezing Murtagh's hand so tightly her knuckles were white. _The black dragon_, she thought to herself, feeling the first touches of hysteria coming on. _That thing—it's _huge—

She took a deep breath, forcing her body to stop shaking. Her knees wobbled, threatening to collapse, but she forced them straight with an iron twist of her will. Finally, she managed to force her lips apart. "Murtagh?"

He didn't answer her. She chanced a quick look at him; he seemed no better off than she was. His eyes were huge; with shock or terror she couldn't tell. He shuddered slightly, closing his eyes, his mouth working as he fought something that she couldn't perceive.

Darkness gathered around them like a thick blanket, smothering them in shadows. _They're sparkly_, Salem thought giddily, reaching up to touch one. It felt hard to her touch, like diamond. Gem. Scales.

"Thorn…"

The word came like a prayer. Salem's eyes could barely make out Murtagh as he lifted his left hand, patting the scales as he searched for something. "Murtagh?" she asked tentatively.

His head snapped towards her, and even by the dim light she could tell he was startled. "Salem?" he said finally, as if he had forgotten she was there.

She squeezed his hand. "Yes."

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Thorn wasn't there.

Murtagh gritted his teeth and tried again. He could sense his dragon, so close, so near, but _he wasn't responding_. Not a single flicker of emotion came through, yet there wasn't anything between them anymore. _Thorn!_ Murtagh shouted once more through their link. _Thorn, why won't you answer me—!_

_Don't you know the answer?_

The voice was cold, bitter. Murtagh stopped short, his eyes flicking around the cavern of scales that was Shruikan. _What do you mean? _he answered at last. _What happened, Thorn?_

Thorn was silent, but emotions began to leech through their link once more. Bitter hatred and self-contempt slipped through the sieve between them and were just as quickly withdrawn. Once again, there was a wall between him and Thorn.

Only this time, Thorn made it.

The ground around them quaked, and Murtagh heard Shruikan's chest rumble with an inner flame. Thorn spoke once more, his voice flat. _Shruikan says for you to drop your mental barriers._

He gave no other explanation. Murtagh hesitated for a moment. What was wrong with Thorn? Could he have changed so much in only two days? _Are you sure?_ he asked slowly, hoping to touch the Thorn he knew.

Utter silence. Murtagh took a breath and dropped his barriers and years of training, leaving his mind exposed. Instantly, he heard an echoing, hollow voice in his mind, grinding and sorrowful. _Wait_.

"Shruikan," Salem whispered from next to him.

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If anybody had stumbled onto the scene, they would have witnessed a strange sight. Shruikan towered like an unmovable boulder, encircling two humans in the hollow between his arm and neck. Like a lost puppy, a tiny red dragon by comparison waited behind him, his red eyes giving away nothing.

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_We're waiting for something,_ Salem thought suddenly.

Besides a shift of his claw to make himself more comfortable, Shruikan hadn't moved an inch. Murtagh was pacing in the small circle of space they had, straining to catch sight of Thorn. The red dragon hung persistently out of view.

The minutes trickled by. Several times, Salem opened her mouth to talk but found herself shutting up because she instinctively sensed that talking, even a whistle or a hum, would aggravate the silence. _I'll only make things worse...but this silence, isn't it bad enough?_

_I wouldn't do that if I were you,_ a voice said sourly.

Salem's head jerked up in surprise. _What, don't you recognize me?_ the voice snapped. _It's Thorn, you idiot. I can read your insipid thoughts clear as day. Don't talk. Don't do anything. Just. Sit. Quietly._

"What!" Salem blurted. Murtagh turned to look at her, clearly startled. More disconcertingly, a huge black eye from the mound that was Shruikan swiveled ever so slightly to focus on her. "Sorry," she whispered. "It was a mistake."

Shruikan's eye turned away, but Murtagh stepped towards her. "What was it?" he whispered quietly, peering intently at her face.

Salem grimaced. "Your stupid dragon," she said softly. "I was thinking about whistling or talking, and he told me not to. And I was just startled, because his voice—it sounds so much different from what I remember."

"He spoke to you?" Murtagh asked, clearly startled. "But why…"

His voice trailed off. "I'm sure it was nothing," she said hurriedly. "I mean, he was telling me off. Not a big deal."

He shrugged, and both of them sat there for a moment sharing a length of depressed silence.

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The silence was lulling, punctuated only by the soft sounds of Shruikan's breathing. Murtagh felt Thorn block him again and again, and it was maddening—why? Why would he block him? _Thorn,_ he called, trying again, _Thorn, what's wrong?_

_What's wrong is you, _came the snappish reply. _Now shut up and sit down!_

Salem was right—Thorn's voice was radically different, not so much the sound as the tone. _It's so…bitter,_ Murtagh realized, pain flooding his mind. _Something happened…_

_You're such a genius,_ Thorn sneered. _Can't you just shut up for once? You're starting to sound like Nitwit Girl over there._

'_Nitwit girl'…_Murtagh looked over at Salem. She sensed his gaze and looked up, her expression wry. "Trouble?" she mouthed at him.

Murtagh shook his head. "No," he answered wordlessly. She nodded ruefully and sighed, the sound echoing off the walls of the cavern.

_Oh, look at me,_ Thorn mocked. _I can sigh. I can flutter my hair girlishly and show off my pretty nails. And you know what? Everybody falls over trying to kiss my shadow, and I'm the Homecoming Queen! _He laughed, the sound cold and harsh in Murtagh's mind. _Godsdamn you, all of you. What the hell does she exist for?_

_Thorn—_Murtagh began, then stopped. _All right,_ he said simply after a moment.

There was a cynical whuff of laughter from somewhere behind Shruikan, but Thorn made no further comment. Dull silence ensued, quiet and thick.

Time slowly trickled by—seconds, minutes, hours—there was no way to measure. Finally, Thorn spoke again. His voice was slow, tired.

_If life can shift in a matter of seconds, do you think it's really that impossible to change irrevocably in a day?_

He didn't seem to expect an answer, and Murtagh didn't offer one.

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Shruikan finally stirred after what seemed ages, his voice echoing as he spoke. _Get up._

Salem jerked out of a listless doze, staring about wildly. Her feet gave way under her as she tried to stand, and Murtagh's arm was welcomed as he helped her up. "Are you all right?" she whispered to him.

"Yes," he answered softly. "Just confused."

She laughed quietly at that, and he looked at her in a startled way. "What's so funny?"

"You're so contradictory," she said, touching his hand lightly. "If a person is lost, how can peace be known?"

His answering look was, if anything, more confused. "My father used to say that whenever any of us tried to play the stoic," she said in explanation. "That was before…before Connac joined the army, though."

He managed a smile and a shrug, but the look in his eyes was faraway and unfocused. Salem sighed for what seemed the umpteenth time, looking wistfully at the scales surrounding them, forming an impenetrable prison. The air was stuffy, sending streaks of sweat down her spine. _Escape looks so far away,_ she thought distantly. _I should be panicking, shouldn't I?_

…_unless I'm resigned to dying. Yep, that's it._

She was jolted out of her depressing thoughts as Shruikan stood, his head scraping the sewer…cavern…whatever…walls. _Are we even in the sewer anymore? Something shifted while we were waiting…the ground's not wet anymore, and there's no muck floating past our legs. Even the air doesn't smell that bad._ She took an experimental sniff and revised that statement. _Maybe it's just because we've gotten used to the stink._

Her head snapped around, catching the sound of footsteps echoing off the walls. Salem felt strangely removed from all of it, as if she were watching it in a show. _Or maybe I'm just dead and don't know it yet,_ she thought giddily. Almost involuntarily, she reached out and took Murtagh's hand. He looked surprised by the contact, but strangely pleased.

Shruikan shifted again, and slowly the great head lowered as he greeted the newcomer._ They are here_, he said, his voice dull and flat.

A soft laugh, then a clap of the hands brought forth a gleaming light, painful after so long in the dark. Salem yelped, throwing her free hand across her eyes, blinking painfully to see who it was.

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**Yes, I suck. But hey, it's an EARLY EARLY update! Besides, you have another 'part' coming on, so just kick back and wait the four days or so it'll take me to type it up. :0 I think you'll like it; it promises to be…um…interesting. –cough- Who could this mysterious man be! –giggles-**

**And if there is no Homecoming Queen in Alagaesia, whatever. There is now.**

**So, your official chappie schedule? 34 Part II comes next, then 35, then MAYBE MAYBE a 36 before the Burning Plains chapter/epilogue. After that, an explainer/insanity/random stuff chapter, and that's the End. So, total? Four more updates, five at the most.**

**Ooh, I'm having SO MUCH FUN! –grooves to les mis music- Yes, Les Miserables is awesome:P But honestly, the kid Cosette is SUCH A BRAT. STOP PRETENDING TO BE CUTE! YOU CAN'T SING!**

**And even though this is a half-chapter, I might as well give review responses anyway...**

**Ariel32: **What! Agh! I did say that I wouldn't kill Salem off, and I _never_ break my promises. –blinks innocently-

And very technically, I **didn't** leave a cliffie for this chapter because THIS IS ONLY HALF A CHAPTER! AHAHAHA! –laughs insanely-

**Alsdssg**: Really, I'm kind of pissed because I didn't manage to fit enough Salem/Murtagh fluffiness into this chapter. But there is a little—

**-pause-**

**NOOO! YOU CAN'T SING EITHER! –hacks lousy song to pieces-**

Sorry about that. I think I'm on a caffeine rush right now or something very similar; I'm feeling quite jazzy and talkative right now. Typative. Whatever. I may just have coined a new word. O.O

**Elemir**: I'm hurrying! NO! I CAN'T COPE WITH PRESSURE! TYPE—MUST TYPE CHAPTER—AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

**Silver sliver**: Thorn's not going to think much about anything, poor boy. Man, I hate doing this to my characters. Poor Thorn. –sniff-

He and Murtagh will eventually reconcile, but not before several more things happen…oh, man. –looks at plot and begins to sob- Noo, why do I keep doing this to people! Ominous black clouds hang ahead for them…(haha, Gewher, I stole your pun :P)

And nope, I just remember the puffins! They are so cute when they waddle in the water, it's like waddle waddle waddle and their little butt thingy goes back and forth and back and forth and they look at you and cock their heads and THEY ARE SO CUTE! EEEE!

**Aurora**: Me, too. I imagine Shruikan's character to be…I don't know, kind of _broken_ I guess. He was ripped away from his true Rider, and I would imagine that to be painful and heartrending…poor old boy would never be the same again, no matter what Galbatorix tries. I hope to put in more of his character next chapter.

**K.A.T. Hiwatari**: -posts chapter, runs, and hides-

-sticks head out of hole- Are you going to kill me for another cliffie? WELL YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TO FIND ME FIRST! Hahaha. I put up this cliffie just to see you squirm. –giggles-

Well, not really. But it's a pleasant side effect :)

And on another note, doesn't it take awfully long to translate a document? Are you using Internet translators? Those things never work, unless they're custom jobs, and then they're expensive…just curious.

**Green-eyed-angel**: I know, I can't believe it either! Stories almost never reach this far. I'm going to be happy when it's over…maybe start up a career in sculpture…kick back and relax. Ahh.

**Mistress-of-Misery**: No, I don't mind the off-topicness. Eragon is a _snothead_ at the end of Eldest. So self-righteous and oh-so-mighty-transformed-elf-slash-human-person-thing whose honor is so important and he's so _perfect_ and so _wonderful_ and so _noble _and so—

**Eragon: Hey!**

**Me: Well, it's true.**

**Murtagh: Hahaha, she likes me more than you.**

**Saphira: -hisses and flames-**

**Me: -sniff- Flames and hissing are the last resort of people with no intelligence. –walks off with nose in air-**

And yeah, I checked it up. The CN Tower _is_ taller than the Taipei 101, but oh-so-officially it's classified as a tower because there are no stories in it.

**Gewher: **

**Me: -looks at Connac- Apparently, I'm not allowed to kill you off anymore.**

**Connac: Wha…! You were going to kill me off in the first place? What do you mean? Wait, am I still going to die?**

**Me: I plead the Fifth. –looks away piously-**

**Connac: …**

But honestly, I do like Connac too. I _hope_ I won't have to kill him off; he's one of those last details that I'm not too sure how to take care of. His living or dying depends on a lot of things…we'll have to see.

**Amantine: **Thank you! I baked the cookie myself. Did you have fun taking _bytes_ out of it?

-silence-

**Me: Taking_ bytes! _Ahaha! Isn't…that…funny…-sees people staring blankly- Oh, never mind. You people have no sense of humor.**

**Coffee Grounds: **Peanuts? No, peanuts don't dare to attack me. I'm far too fearsome for _peanuts_. Although, I did get find some coffee beans in my shoes that gave me a blister. Friends of yours? –glare-

**REVIEW!**


	35. Chapter 34II

**Oh, ye of little faith. _Everybody_ guessed it was Galbatorix a-comin' down that pipe. Well, guess what! YOU'RE WRONG! BWAHAHAA! **

**Yes, I'm insane. XO Anyway, here's your HALF chapter.**

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_4/4/101_

"You," Murtagh hissed, his voice filled with cold venom. "What are _you_ doing—"

The man leered at them, the harsh light bouncing off his shiny pate. "Hello, Murtagh," he grated. His eyes flicked to Salem, and his smirk grew wider. "I haven't forgotten _you_, either, my dear. Tria." The last word was a half-laugh. "Or, should I say, Salem Blackfire."

"It's Ms. Blackfire to you," Salem said, her voice a soft hiss, staring at him with an expression that was just as appalled as Murtagh's.

The Twin sneered at her and snapped his fingers. "Bring them," he ordered Shruikan. The black dragon dipped his head in reply, his tail sweeping Murtagh and Salem with him as he walked. His strides were heavy and harsh, echoing around the dank chamber.

"You're still Galbatorix's pet dog?" Murtagh called out, glaring at the cloaked back of the Twin. "After the failure at the gate? I would've thought he'd scrap you; throw you away for the trash you are."

The Twin paused, looking back slightly. His lip lifted, and he laughed humorlessly. "Very good, Murtagh," he whispered. "You're learning quickly."

He continued walking.

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They emerged into a wide space, lit by a ring of torches placed around the cavern. Shruikan stood silently, seeming to expect something. His wings fluttered slightly, and his head dropped.

The Twin stepped forward, conferring with someone in the shadows. There was a whispered conversation, and then the Twin stepped back out, looking decidedly sour. He was accompanied by his other half. Both of the Twins gave Murtagh and Salem half-sneers, half-glares, and tromped out of the chamber.

Murtagh felt Salem hand tighten on his. He squeezed back, suddenly glad for her presence. _No matter what Thorn thinks_.

A derisive mental laugh emanated from Thorn, but the dragon said nothing. Murtagh sighed and turned his attention to the pool of shadow. "Galbatorix," he said softly. "Come out, come out, wherever you are…"

"Why do you still play these games?" a sardonic voice said unexpectedly from behind them. Both of them whirled around, alarm and surprise mirrored on each others' faces.

Galbatorix stood there, looking unexpectedly disheveled. His normally immaculate hair has a leaf in it, and there was grass stains on his robe. He smiled at their shocked expressions, his smile harsh and mocking. "As you can see, I was rather…delayed," he said softly, his mouth twisting in a grimace. "But all the same, it is very pleasant to have you both here."

He turned to Salem, sweeping an elegant bow. "Miss Blackfire? I am honored that you should grace us with your presence. You've been quite elusive."

Salem's mouth worked, but nothing came out. She merely nodded. Murtagh hesitated, then said quietly, "I've done what you wanted, Galbatorix. What…what do you want?"

Galbatorix sighed as if disappointed, shaking his head melodramatically. "Murtagh, Murtagh, Murtagh…such a hurry? You're a not a gentleman at all. After all, we have a _lady_ in our midst." He gestured to Salem eloquently and raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Salem said harshly, though Murtagh could detect sharp fear in her voice. "Answer his question!"

Galbatorix eyed her for a moment, his eyes narrowed. Then, he made a sweeping bow.

"I was taught never to contradict a lady," he said, a hint of mockery in his voice. "I shall not begin now. Very well, to business."

He turned to Shruikan, his hands curling tightly as an unspoken magical command filled the air. The effect was immediate as Shruikan reared, screaming, the sounds echoing around the dank chamber and amplifying until they hurt the ears. Galbatorix was unfazed, an expression of manic pleasure on his face as he stared at the dragon, power tying them together. The black dragon was in pain and Galbatorix was enjoying every moment of it—

"_STOP IT!"_ a new voice screamed. It was barely heard over Shruikan's cries, but then the speaker rushed forward. Murtagh looked on in shock as Salem grabbed Galbatorix's cloak, forcing his hand down. "For gods' sake, _stop it!_"

The magical pressure released, and Shruikan dropped to the ground, immobile and still. The only sign of life were his heaving flanks as he fought for breath. Galbatorix turned to Salem, astonishment written all over his face. They stared at each other for a long moment, and then, to Murtagh's astonishment, Galbatorix nodded. His expression no longer contained sadistic glee; it seemed almost apologetic. "All right. Please let go of my cloak."

Salem's fingers freed themselves of the cloak. She looked stunned as she stepped back, and relieved. "Sorry," she mumbled in a small voice.

Galbatorix shrugged as he stepped forward towards Shruikan, touching the black dragon almost tenderly. "The mistake was mine." He looked up, as if measuring the distance to Shruikan's back. Then, he turned to them, a small smile on his face.

"Murtagh, get on your dragon. Take Salem with you."

Murtagh blanched. "What?"

Galbatorix's expression turned ironic. "We're going for a ride. Do it, Brikijae."

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The smear of shadows turned out to be an elongated passageway, rising upwards until the two Riders broke out into sunlight. Salem gasped with exhilaration as they soared over the city. Involuntarily, an awed laugh broke out of her despite her fear, and for a moment she forgot everything but the thrill of flying.

Galbatorix pulled Shruikan level with them, motioning them to ascend. They pulled up, leaving the city behind. Salem twisted to look at it, unease beginning to twist her stomach again. _We're leaving Uru'baen? Where…where are we going?_

As if he had heard her thoughts (which he probably had), Galbatorix turned his head and gave her a fierce, predatory grin. Salem's hands tightened on Murtagh's tunic, and she closed her eyes. _Could I jump? Escape? _

_I wouldn't advise it,_ Murtagh said in her mind, one hand falling from the reins to touch hers. _It would mean certain death._

Salem hesitated, only a little bit surprised, wondering vaguely how he could talk to her the same way Thorn did. Normally she only picked up very violent or emotional thoughts, but Murtagh's voice was matter-of-fact. "Yes, but—" The wind threw her words back into her face, and she tried again. "YES, BUT_—"_

_Just think your thoughts and I'll hear them,_ Murtagh advised, squeezing her hand.

_Oh…_Salem thought, blowing out a breath. _Um, all right. Can you hear me?_

_Yes._

Salem was a little miffed by the idea that he could hear her thoughts. _What, so my brain is just lying on a table for you to examine?_ she asked, not sure if she wanted to hear the answer. _Can you read my mind?_

_You could say that,_ Murtagh said. _Your mind is unshielded right now. _

The idea didn't appeal to her, that her mind was an open chest for anyone to dig around. _You might as well get used to the idea,_ Murtagh said, his mental voice somber. _It won't change unless you get serious training. And—_ he broke off his thought at this point, refusing to elaborate on whatever thoughts he had.

Salem took a deep breath and looked over Thorn's flanks. An unbroken grassy plain flashed under them, with the glimmer of blue ahead signaling the Ramr River. She shot a glance at the emperor—he showed no indication of stopping anytime soon, and a dark shiver shot down her spine. _How far will we fly?_

_Don't worry about that,_ Murtagh said softly. _Worry about _why

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Murtagh felt Salem settle back, and he could feel her thoughts flicking rapidly as she analyzed the situation and fomented up possible plans. He sighed inaudibly and looked down at the saddle underneath him, his eyes flicking to the border of red scales at the edge of the leather.

_Thorn?_ he asked impulsively, reaching out for the dragon's mind.

_What?_ came the irritated reply.

_What happened to you?_ The question slipped out of his mind suddenly, reaching forth before he could pull it back. Thorn was silent and unresponsive, and Murtagh tried another tack. _What's wrong?_

When an answer finally came, it was cold and terse. _Unless you've aquired psychiatric abilities suddenly, I would prefer not to share my thoughts with you. I would prefer to fly in silence, without some nattering idiot grilling me about my life. Do you understand, or is your skull to thick for that thought to penetrate?_

Murtagh rocked in the saddle, feeling as if Thorn had hit him physically. _What—_

_I thought so,_ Thorn said nastily, suddenly accelerating in a frightening burst of speed. Murtagh grabbed the reins as Salem's hand tightened on his. _Thorn!_

_Some Rider you are,_ Thorn taunted. _Can't even keep your ass on my back. Now shut the hell up._

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The wind was chilly and laden with moisture, and the fierce winds were cold. Salem pulled her arms close around her, staring down at the land. The Ramr played under them, bubbling and frothing.

There was far too much time for her to think. Images played through her mind—Connac, Charis, Reynold, Tria…and once again, the puzzle of Silica leapt to her mind. _Ides, Gen, Rina, Matiel—what happened to them? Why couldn't I get a response?_

She sighed and twined her fingers together, rubbing them in an attempt get warm them. _They're dead; that's the only explaination. It was only a matter of time._ Her thoughts skipped to her own death, and no alarm registered at the thought—only a strange kind of resignment. _If they're dead, what's to say I deserve to live longer than they?_

She rested against Murtagh's back, savoring the warmth that came from him. The thought occurred to her suddenly, musing and meandering. _Where do the dead go? Is there an afterlife?_

_If there is, is it possible to resurrect them? Could somebody redeal the cards fate has dealt, make them laugh again, make them live again? _

_I wouldn't say so,_ Murtagh said seriously in her mind. _The dead are…well, dead, and it's pretty much beyond the power of anybody to overrule it. Even Galbatorix's._

_Makes life seem kind of empty, _Salem said wistfully. _The idea that once we're gone, we're gone forever…_

_No, it doesn't,_ Murtagh said firmly. _It makes us live this life to the fullest, instead of wishing for some other destiny that will never come true. _

She sighed. _But think of it this way. A person, somebody who was animated and alive a second ago, and then—where does the animating force go? Just vanish? What created it in the first place?_

_Now we're getting into a lengthy debate of soul,_ Murtagh said, tiredly amused. _I _would_ debate it with you, but I've never been a priest or anything of the sort. Theology has never interested me._

Salem pondered his words. _Well, I haven't exactly made it my life's study either,_ she said finally, _but these are ideas that form our base of existence. To know where the dead go, at least to believe…isn't that worth thinking about?_

Murtagh sighed, his breath pluming in light clouds as he exhaled. _When people die, there's nothing mystical or amazing about it, Salem,_ he said finally. _A corpse; that's the kind of finality that can't ever be reversed. _He hesitated. _No matter what you do, or how you act, the dead will stay dead._

Salem recognized the muted pain in his thoughts, catching hints of long-lost memories buried in his mental voice. A sudden memory occurred to her—only two days ago, at the gate—what name had Murtagh given for himself? What did it mean…

_Tornac. Tornac Brunson._

Brunson… _That name is oddly familiar,_ she frowned. _Brunson…where have I heard that name? _

When the realization came to her, Salem was torn between nausea and self-contempt. _Brunson! How could I forget? They were charged with treason, weren't they? Put to death publicly…gods, the executions…_

_What?_ Murtagh's voice sounded in her mind, sharp and urgent. _What happened?_

Half-startled, Salem spoke quickly as his anxiety flooded her mind. _Three years ago,_ she said, _the Brunsons were charged with treason, for conspiring against the Empire. They were held in jail for nearly two months before their execution. Even the little ones._ Salem trailed away as she remembered the executions, still harshly bloody in her memory. Every single member of the Brunson family, from the old grandmother to a baby not three months old, had been killed that day. _Didn't—didn't you know? There were banners all around Uru'baen…_

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Murtagh's ears were ringing, and he was reeling with shock. _Tornac's family? All—all of them…even the new baby…_

His hands tightened on the reins, and it was hard for him to breathe. That day, so many years ago, Tornac had helped him out of Uru'baen despite his misgivings and died for it. To find that Galbatorix had extended the same fate to his friend's family—_They welcomed me, and they died for their connections to me,_ he thought numbly._ Kylaia, Rikal, Eryn—did he even get Tornac's sweetheart, too? Kill her because of her connections to a runaway's friend?_

_Murtagh?_ Salem asked tentatively.

He jerked away, struggling with his guilt. _Don't._

She understood and pulled away, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

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Silence dominated the hours, letting the seconds trickle away slowly through whatever omnipotent hourglass out there. Murtagh had closed himself off, leaving nothing but dreary silence. Salem pulled her hand back and gazed down at the passing ground below, watching with a growing sense of dread as the scenery changed from bubbling river to grassy plain, stretching endlessly into the distance.

As the sun traversed its path across the sky, Salem fell into a listless doze. Murtagh protected her from some of the windblast, and she was grateful for her full-length palace skirt. Even if it did smell from the sewers, it kept her body warmth in.

She woke up sometime around night, startled awake by the stilled wind. They had landed; it was a treeless plain that stretched to meet the base of mountains off in the distance. To their right, a glimmer of blue signaled a nearby lake.

Salem sat up unsteadily, her legs gone numb. Gratefully, she accepted Murtagh's help in dismounting. She looked furtively at his face; his expression was unreadable.

A few yards away, Galbatorix had landed Shruikan. The black dragon's wings hung limply with exhaustion, his head bowed. Galbatorix muttered something into the dragon's ear and stepped away, a pleased smile on his face. He turned to the two of them, still smiling. "Well, my little children?" he said brightly. "Welcome to…well, let's just say to an _adventure_."

He studied their expressions. Murtagh's was flat and blocked off as he faced Galbatorix. Salem had a wary look on her face, but her eyes were steady. "Where are we going?" she asked, her voice whipping across the plains.

Galbatorix chuckled. "So impatient, my dear? You'll find out tomorrow; I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise. I'll give you a hint, though." He flung his hand out dramatically in the direction of the lake, beaming all the while. "That is Flam Lake. Nasty name, don't you think?"

His smile grew malevolent as neither of them reacted. "Very well. See those trees? That's the sparse forest that surrounds the Flam. The lake water is quite safe to drink, if you don't mind the occasional flopping fish. We shall bed there tonight."

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_End of Chapter Thirty-Four_

**ARGH! I! HATE! MYSELF!**

Because I messed up some of the primary planning, you get an EXTRA chapter. So, new schedule. **Chapter 35, 36, MAYBE a 37, THEN the Burning Plains chapter, then the ScREWY RAnDom sTuff chappie. **I anticipate the next chapter to be a short one, though, no more than 3-4 pages in Verdana size 9 on Microsoft Word. I just want to wrap up some things that I wasn't able to reach in this chapter. Expect it in about 3-5 days, depending on how hectic my life is.

Personally, I don't think this is much of a cliffie…but hey, if it is go ahead and make your death threats. They tend to bounce off after a certain point. XD

**ONE URGENT QUESTION: **What's your idea of Salem? Too Mary-Sue still? I've had several people tell me her character has gotten distinctly better, but having a Mary-Sue Salem has got to be my worst nightmare. And what about her relationship with Murtagh? It doesn't have to be a romance (I have long since given up hope) but what's your view of their 'chemistry' together? I would GREATLY appreciate your responses. Thankees!

**REVIEW!**

**Fallonaiya Sedai**: I won't kill _everybody_ off…for example, _Murtagh_ is off-limits to my Evil Writing Killing Spree of Doom. There are also a few other characters…Galbatorix…Thorn…you know, I'm not _totally _evil.

**Emerald Tiara:** Hey, nice to see you after fifty bazillion years of silence. What happened to Thorn will be revealed in a while…partly because I don't know yet, and partly because I hate giving out stuff out of story context. So, toodles.

**Mrs Pierre Bouvier:** -shifty eyes- Eh heh, what we you doing on your sister's account in the first place? Doing something you shouldn't have? O. And I did wonder why you didn't review…

Thorn is cute? That's not really the impression I was trying to pull off! –sniffles- He's supposed to be oh-so-tragic and boohooey and all soppy…

**Gewher:** Whatta? _I_ have almond shaped eyes, it comes with part of being Asian. HOW COULD YOU DO THIS ME! WAAAAAAAAH! MOMMY, GEWHER IS BULLYING ME!

But honestly, Eragon is just so…Mistress-of-Misery got my Eragon rant last time, and now it's your turn. He's so, I don't know, pristine perfect that I want to stick him through. –shudders- What's the male counterpart of a Mary-Sue? A Stu, that's it. I don't know, give Stu a beard and make him manly-macho and you'd have a Stu-Eragon. A Sturagon.

And what's your impression of Salem/Murtagh? I asked that in the top, but just in case you forget.

**Silver pup:** -rubs eyes and stares-

Oh, my! Come to think of it, I did see a pig soar past my window the other day…I should've known something was up.

Thank you for your –very- detailed character analysis! It made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I don't know, portraying Murtagh's side of the Burning Plains will be…interesting, to say the least. I have a few things planned to sour his character up considerably in the last few chapters, though, so don't get too comfortable.

And you should be concentrating on math homework, anyway. Math is awesome, especially algebra. I mean, geometry was just plain useless, but algebra…I just _luuuurve_ functions, don't you?

**Alsdssg:** Mwahahaha! What happened to Thorn will be revealed the last few chapters, it's my secret weapon for WORLD FANFIC DOMINATION! AHAHAHAHAAHHA! –goes slightly insane-

-cough- Now back to reality, let's just say that whatever happened to poor Thorn wasn't too pleasant. I want to have a Murtagh/Thorn scene near the end, and that's when you'll find out.

**Chibichadiana**: Thanks for the spellcheck. I turn mine off automatically because I hate the way it squiggly-underlines names and cities and stuff like that, they drive me INSANE.

Well, no, I think Murtagh didn't let himself be killed because that doesn't follow the basis of his beliefs, _protect yourself and what you cherish._ Murtagh doesn't care a single bloody whit for strangers; he cares about people he knows and befriends. Having an egg hatch would endanger Eragon, who is one of those people. However, getting killed in the end, while it would benefit lots of people, it would also benefit complete _strangers_, who Murtagh doesn't give two cents about. That's my idea anyway.

**Aurora:** I have no idea what I'm going to do after this. My poor _Outsiders_ fanfic has been updated two lousy times since I started it way back then, and I'm thinking about continuing with that if there's enough interest. I _might_ start another Eragon fanfic, but I'm tapped dry of ideas. Plus, if that fic turns out to be as long-winded as this one, I'll never finish it before the third book comes out!

**K.A.T. Hiwatari**: Well hey, _I _think I'm hilarious. I crack myself up. Hahaha. Ha. Ha. Meh.

-coughs slightly-

Oh, don't be mad at me. I wouldn't be able to bear it. I didn't actively make this chappie a cliffhanger, right? That should count for something.

**Mistress-of-Misery**: I shall reserve judgment on Connac's death until the Burning Plains chapter or the one right before. Anyway, if he does end up dying, it won't be _my_ hand that kills him off. You'll see.

Ah, vermillion, schmermillion. You know, it sounds better to say 'his red eyes' rather than 'his reddish-orangish eyes'. –snickers- Oh, all right. Next time I feel like describing Thorn's eyes, they shall be described as vermillion.

And thankees, I am greatly honored. Though honestly, I don't know where I'll go after this fic is done…

**Ariel32:** Ah, get up get up get up! You're making me blush! –blushes anyway- I can't promise that I won't do a cliffie next chapter, but there's a 90 percent probability that the chapter after next will not be a cliffie. So, anyways.

And I never kill anybody with suspense. Suspense is to torture readers into doing one of two things: a) cry for a quick update, or b) give me death threats to update soon or ELSE! Both of them are hilarious to me. Yes, I have a twisted sense of humor. XD

**Coffee Grounds**: NOO! Not the French Roast! Get away from me, you evil bean! –starts sobbing- Keep that monster under control from now on!

Switching to a completely unrelated topic due to my thirty-second attention span, why do you like it when Thorn taunts Salem! That's not anything near the effect I was trying to achieve. What's your opinion of her?

**Amantine**: Oh, I can never withstand the power of winking. –crumples into a heap- I'm a sucker for those things, as well as cookies. Yes, cookies are awesome. To encourage fast updates, cookies are a MUST. –stuffs ten cookies into mouth at once-

**Its.Garnet.Time:** Where. Have. You. Been! My god, you've got to email me. –glares- If life is screwing up as usual, I wanna know. I live for screwiness.

Teen writer thing at the Gazette? Wait, you mean that supplementary paper that we did comics for back in 5th grade? Or is it something else entirely? I remember that extra edition, Jivan had this awesome thing about religion in it that I thought was really cool; it went on my wall. What's the topic?

Yes, my jokes are hilarious. Ahahaa. Actually, I only know one really good joke, and that's just because Maria Deem (you know her?) told it to me. It's a blond joke, but it's a really good one. No offense.

Email me or I'll hack you apart with a rusty axe. –pulls out axe and glares- Don't forget! I sent you one waaaaay back, I don't know if you got it because you never responded…

**Whew! Two full pages of review responses. Once again, review! **


	36. Chapter 35

**THANK GOD FOR ELECTRONIC THESAURUSES! They are the miracle of modern technology. **

**-end of random comment-**

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_4/4/101_

In sullen silence, the five of them managed to make camp and start a small fire, roasting the remains of a few unfortunate hares over it. Galbatorix sat in Shruikan's shadow, a strange smile on his face as he surveyed his prisoners.

Murtagh sat next to the fire, poking the flames disinterestedly with a stick. Sick guilt gnawed at his stomach as Tornac's death replayed itself in his mind again and again. Tornac's death had been painfully slow—it was a belly cut, just deep enough to be fatal. It had taken fifteen sickening minutes for him to die, and Murtagh could remember his agonized cries vividly.

His grip tightened about the stick. And to have the same fate visited upon his family…what kind of twisted justice was this? Tornac's sister, Eryn, with her impish laugh…Kylaia, the irritably kind grandmother…Rikal, Jerin, Hallai, Sevlin, even the new baby, not three months old! He had _known_ every one of these people, and they had died for their association to him.

A light touch on his arm startled him out of his thoughts. He turned to look at Salem, a sigh escaping his lips. In a tired voice, he said, "What?"

She eyed him with a sharp, piercing stare. "Are you moping?"

Murtagh stared, taken aback. "Excuse me?"

She raised an eyebrow, and Murtagh felt immediately defensive. "Moping? Sixteen people are dead because of me, Salem. People that I knew. Friends. And now…" He shook his head hopelessly. "They're gone."

"I thought you were a warrior," she said, her voice softening. Her gaze was no longer accusing; it seemed curious. "At the gate, you were prepared to fight and kill, if need be. How can you justify killing, then, if you abhor these deaths?"

"When it comes down to survival," Murtagh said quietly. "When I must kill to defend myself, I will do it. I ask you, how does killing sixteen innocents amount to survival?"

"So you're the victim here?" she asked softly.

"I never said that," Murtagh said sharply.

She was silent, then shrugged. "No. You're not."

Her tone was bland. Murtagh looked at her sidelong, eyes narrowed. "Spill it," he said caustically. "You're going to do it anyway."

She sighed, running her fingers through her hair. "I can't criticize," she said finally. "I'm no innocent, especially…well, especially after what I did to…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "But, I don't know."

She looked significantly at Galbatorix, then back to Murtagh. "Morzan, the emperor's right hand…whenever he killed, do you think he considered the dead? Everybody has a story, Murtagh. Everybody has an identity and somebody to mourn them. Morzan and the other twelve Forsworn…they got to a point where killing doesn't matter. Where killing's a duty, something to do."

Murtagh worked his jaw, feeling acutely uncomfortable at the mention of his father. "Yes…" he said softly, waiting for her to finish her thought.

She sighed, staring at Galbatorix at the other side of the fire. "Is heartlessness a part of holding power?" she asked quietly. "To become dominant, it seems you have to turn off the part that makes you alive…"

She fixed him with a steady gaze. "You're a Rider. One day, no matter how much you kick your heels and scream, you're going to have to wield power." She touched his hand, her mouth grim. "And to wield it, will you turn your emotions off, too? To forget how to mourn? To die, even though you're still breathing?"

Murtagh stared at her, then exhaled a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "You can't question ethics in that way, Salem. I kill because I must. Because to survive, another man's death is necessary. I…" he trailed off, suddenly uncertain. In a quieter voice, he said, "I would never kill for no reason."

"Where do you draw the line in terms of _need_?" she said. "The Brunsons died because they were seen as a threat. A very minor, vague threat, but still a threat. It depends on interpretation, Murtagh. Lives balance on a thin blade."

Murtagh stared into the fire. Something about Salem's words struck a deep chord in him, forcing him to reconsider beliefs that he had always lived by. "So," he said finally. "If a man is coming at you with a sword and going to chop your head off, do you sit by and let him?"

"No," she said softly. "I'm not saying that when it comes down to life and death you should never defend yourself. What I'm trying to say, I suppose, is that when you run this kingdom at Galbatorix's right-hand side, to err on the side of caution. To try to spare lives whenever possible, and to always remember each one as a living being rather than a number." Her eyes flicked to his face, dark and solemn. "Think about it."

She rose, stepping away to leave Murtagh with his own thoughts.

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_4/5/101_

The next morning came far too soon. Murtagh winced as the sun streaked over the lake, bouncing off to create a powerful annoyance. Galbatorix did not help; his expression was positively giddy as he shouted the wake-up call.

"Wake UP! Wake _uh-hup!_"

A few feet away, Salem groaned and mumbled something that Murtagh couldn't quite make out. She sat up slowly, blinking like an owl. "Sunrise?" she asked vaguely, looking around as if puzzled.

Murtagh nodded. "Not an early morning person?" he asked teasingly. She scowled at him and shook her head.

"Well, cheer up. It's a beautiful day," Murtagh said.

Salem made a _mmrrbg_ sound and sighed. "Connac was the early riser in the family," she said, rubbing her eyes. "Every morning at the crack of dawn. That's probably why he became a soldier."

Murtagh smiled and helped her to her feet. She accepted his help gratefully, leaning against him with an apologetic laugh. Both of them felt their amusement fade as Galbatorix strode towards them, a huge grin on his face. "Well, it's about _time,_ you two. We've got some more flying today before we land…well, wherever we're supposed to land. The dragons are fed and watered, and you got four moments and a bit to get ready!"

He strolled off, whistling. Murtagh and Salem exchanged incredulous looks, wondering at Galbatorix's chipper attitude. "What…" Salem began.

"That's just odd," Murtagh completed.

"What's going to happen today?" Salem asked, staring after Galbatorix, worry clear in her face.

Murtagh squeezed her hand reassuringly. "We'll face things one at a time," he said softly. "Come on, let's get ready."

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Flying. Again.

Salem sat on the edge of the saddle, watching worriedly as the dragons lifted off. They were heading towards the mountains, to whatever lay there…she poked Murtagh. He twisted slightly to face her, an inquiring expression on his face. _Yes?_ he asked.

_Flam,_ Salem said slowly. _The Flam Lake. Do you recognize the name? Where are we?_

He frowned, considering. _Near mountains? _He gestured towards the shadows ahead. _The only mountains I know of are the Coastal Mountains and the Beors. It can't be the Beors; we haven't traveled over desert. _

_The Coastal Mountains? What's there?_

He shrugged and turned to face the front. _Plenty. What I don't understand is why we're going to all this trouble. If he wanted to kill you, there are plenty of chances back in Uru'baen. Torture is the same. So why are we out here?_

Salem considered the prospect. _Because there's something special that can't be found back in Uru'baen,_ she said slowly.

She could feel his confirmation. Salem settled back into the saddle, thoughts clicking through her head. _The Ra'zac?_ she suggested.

_That would be Dras-Leona, near Leona Lake,_ he said, shaking his head. _Less than a day's journey on dragonback. _He was silent for a moment. Salem was about to sink back into her own thoughts when he abruptly changed the subject. _What you were saying yesterday—_

_Yes…?_ Salem said when he didn't complete his thought. _What of it?_

Murtagh hesitated, then said slowly, _Would I?_

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He didn't even know what he was asking, and now that that words were out there Murtagh desperately wished he could take them back. What was his question, anyway?

Salem took her time answering, and when she finally did answer, her words were as cryptic as his. _Only if you forget._

He waited, but she said nothing else. He was about to turn his mind away when she added, _But now, I don't think you will. Not anymore._

Murtagh's breath caught in his throat as an unfamiliar emotion swept through him. It took him a moment to get his feelings under control, to prevent Salem from detecting any of it. Finally, he could speak. _I see_.

He could feel her grin. _'I see'? We have just had one of the most cryptic conversations I can remember, and all you can say is 'I see.' Well, I see too. And I have no idea what I'm seeing._

_It's hard to comprehend,_ he told her gravely. _Can you identify it?_

This time she laughed, the sound sending goosebumps rippling down his spine. _Insanity. Lots of it._

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Salem grinned in unholy amusement, feeling Murtagh's wry confusion. _And how is the view from there?_ he inquired, his voice dry.

_I haven't crossed completely to the other side,_ she said, making her voice mockingly hurt. _No need to insult me._

He laughed, but his voice grew serious again. _What do you mean?_

Salem paused, hesitant. What did he want from her? What were they talking about, anyway? Did he mean what she did?

She could feel him waiting patiently for an answer. Salem hesitated, considering her response carefully. _You have a warrior's ethics,_ she said finally, her words stumbling and halting. _They form a vital part of your being, and, well, that's important. But part of the warrior code, it's…it's honorable. I know they say there's no honor among thieves, right? But you're not a thief…_

She trailed off, thoroughly confused as to where she was going with this. Her thoughts tumbled over each other, meandering and disorganized. _It'll always be a part of you, I think. Even when you are called to play your role, you'll always remember. Evil…well, nobody can really classify evil, but I don't think it's within you._

Murtagh shifted in the saddle, turning to face her. His eyes, dark hazel, met hers squarely as he nodded. He took her hand, rubbing it gently. _Thank you_.

He reached up, tracing the lines of her face. To her utter shock, Salem found herself fighting for breath as his hand traveled down her cheek, her skin tingling wherever he touched. She was frozen, paralyzed by a combination of surprise and pleasure.

"Murtagh…"

The word was soft, almost lost within the winds whipping around them. Murtagh hesitated, his eyes searching hers.

Who moved first? Where do we put our noses? These thoughts flicked through her mind for a fraction of a second before they were lost in the warm fire that spread throughout her entire body. Then, all that mattered was the warmth of Murtagh before her and his lips on hers as they kissed.

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**-interlude while author sniffs-**

**Waaah! You know, I really shouldn't have put that in there, but I couldn't resist. Knowing what evil fates I have in store for them, I feel they should have at least one moment together before god-knows-what happens to them. Besides, I'm a sucker for romance.**

**I didn't plan this. Seriously. My muses forced me at gunpoint to type it out; then they vanished for a vacation in Jamaica. No idea when they'll be back.**

**Honestly, though, I agonized over and over about this particular bit. I was going to post it yesterday, but decided not to because I wanted to edit it. Believe me, the Salem/Murtagh thing has been replaced by several vastly different scenarios at least three times. Finally, though, I've decided to keep it.**

**If you disagree with how this has turned out, I apologize deeply. –grovels- Please continue to read and review! Tell me your opinion of this particular section. If I get enough negative responses, I WILL replace it with something else, even though the damage has already been done.**

**-sigh- Back to the story.**

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Murtagh pulled away, finally remembering to breathe. He felt strangely tingly, and his ears were buzzing. _Salem? _he managed finally.

_Yes,_ she said, sounding lost. _Did you start that?_

He hesitated. _I…I don't know._

Salem laughed, the sound shaky. _Me neither. Did you want to?_

_Definitely not,_ he said forcefully. _I thought you were the most aggravating, annoying, questioning girl—excuse me, woman—that I'd ever met. _

She raised an eyebrow. _Yes, well, I thought you were an emotionless rock with the morals and ethics of a gutter rat. I think you started it, because I certainly didn't._

_Are you sure?_ he said lazily. _You didn't pull away._

_Because my insides melted,_ Salem objected. _Not my fault._

Their words notwithstanding, the two of them had yet to pull their gazes away from each other, their hands intertwined. Murtagh couldn't understand the strange emotions coursing through his veins, bringing something dormant to full force within him. From her look, he was sure Salem felt the same. Finally, Salem said quietly, _You know this is impossible._

Murtagh hesitated. He pulled his gaze away from hers, staring down at the outline of the mountains ahead. _Yes._

_We could jump,_ Salem suggested, seeing the wistfulness in his look.

He stared at her. _And that would help matters how?_

She shrugged. _We get to have the once-in-the-lifetime experience of skydiving._

Murtagh was startled into a laugh. _Well, how can I possibly turn that down? I live to skydive._

Salem smiled, but clearly her heart wasn't in it. Her eyes were distracted as she stared at a point above his head. _I hate this,_ she said abruptly. _All of it._

_If we got everything we wanted in life, we'd be spoiled rotten,_ Murtagh said, shaking his head.

_Well, if you get _nothing_ you want in life, then you're suicidal and depressed._ She sighed. _I don't know. I feel…_ she hesitated, clearly uncertain. _I feel as if I'm betraying Reynold,_ she managed finally.

_Reynold?_

_Yes. The…the man I killed. He…_ she looked away, her mouth trembling. _He was outspoken and…well, too much like me. Like repels like, I know, the relationship would've never worked. I fought back in self-defense, but I just…just wonder. _Her hand tightened on his. _We kissed. There's no point in denying it. And...I don't know. It felt right, sort of, in a way Reynold didn't. And now I feel like I'm spitting on his memory, and we're all going to be cursed._

She looked up and smiled ruefully. _You probably think I'm childish, don't you? Silly girl, believing in curses. _

_I think it's guilt,_ Murtagh said, brushing her cheek with his thumb. _Honoring the dead._

She made a face at him. _Oh, stop parroting my words back to me. I hate it when that happens._

They sat in contented silence. Both of them could sense something subtly different in the air and their manner towards each other—in that single, impulsive kiss, a barrier had been snapped apart.

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Conversation came to them easily now, and the tension that had dominated their prison stay had vanished. They still avoided the past—the subject was still too painful, even now—but no longer were they suspicious of each other.

During interludes in the talk, both of them viewed the land below constantly with growing unease. The terrain below shifted, melding from plain to mountain to coastline, and then more alarmingly, to ocean.

_Where are we going?_ Salem wondered for the umpteenth time. _And yes, I know the 'why' is also important, but I should think the answer to 'where' is pretty interesting too…_

_There aren't that many lands overseas,_ Murtagh frowned. He closed his eyes, trying to remember the old maps. _Sharktooth, I suppose…Vroengard…Beirland, Illium…and not to forget the countless islands off the northwestern coast. _

_So basically, we could be going anywhere, _Salem said, completing his thoughts.

Murtagh hesitated. _Well, I think the most likely destination is Vroengard, the old Rider stronghold. But why go there? _

_Maybe he wants to gloat,_ Salem suggested. _The tales all say that Galbatorix destroyed the last Rider at the gates of Doru Araeba._

_All the way out here just to gloat? No. There must be something else._ Murtagh frowned, tapping the saddle.

He felt a nudge in his ribs and looked quizzically at the direction Salem was pointing. Galbatorix had pulled up next to them and was motioning for them to descend; there was a smudge of land right ahead that had to be their destination. _What…_ Salem muttered, staring at it. _Looks big enough to be another continent…_

Thorn dropped without being asked, matching Shruikan's pace with fluid beats of his wings. As the two dragons circled over the land, the buildings beneath them triggered a faint memory in his head. _Where…I've seen that before._

They dropped down onto a small plain, the brisk evening wind playing over them. Galbatorix dismounted first, grinning broadly. He waved his arms dramatically at them as they dismounted.

"Welcome!" he shouted. "This is Vroengard!"

"Vroengard…?" Murtagh said slowly, letting the unspoken question hang in the air.

Galbatorix laughed unpleasantly. They had landed on a croppy valley, with high mountains streaking up on all sides. "Over there lies the remains of Doru Araeba," he said, gesturing to the right. "But I'm not interested in Doru Araeba; there's nothing there." He turned to face them, his eyes glinting with malicious humor.

"Then what?" Salem said, her voice tight with tension.

Galbatorix walked over to the base of one of the mountains, running his hands over the base of the rock and muttering a few words they couldn't quite catch. The effect was immediate and startling as the stone creaked, then split open to reveal a small tunnel, branching through to gods-know-where. "After you, milady," he said with a mocking grin at Salem.

Murtagh could feel the apprehension in Salem; a quick glance at her showed that her face was pale and bloodless. He could feel adrenaline coursing through his own veins as Galbatorix's smile widened to grotesque proportions, all the teeth showing in some misshapen leer. "Where—where does that go?" Salem whispered finally, staring at the hole.

"It's a cavern of secrets," Galbatorix answered matter-of-factly. "One of the best hidden Rider secrets, as a matter of fact, known only by a few. I discovered it after prying through several mounds of traps and riddles." He flashed a knowing look at Shruikan. "They called it Vinael Ephicai, the elves did. I suppose you might translate it as the Vault of Souls."

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_End of Chapter Thirty-Five_

Is that a cliffie? I don't think so, but maybe it's just because I've reviewed my plotline about ten bazillion times. Next chapter will be posted in about 3-5 days. Once again, depending on how inspired my muses are and how disturbingly insane my life gets. And yes, the dreaded SCHOOL starts in…um…a week and a half. Or so. Once that happens, it's back to once-a-week updates. –winces- But anyway, hopefully I will be done before then.

Seriously, if you think I overstepped, please don't flame. I mean, constructive criticism is fine; I like that kind of stuff. Just no evil insults because I'll cry! –sniffs for effect- I was so scared about this particular chapter that I asked a friend of mine to actually beta it, and I've never done that before. She said it was fine, but I almost cut it out anyway before (after three rewrites) finally leaving most of it intact.

Anyway, this story is right on track. **So expect anywhere from 2-3 chapters before the Burning Plains.**

I'm not on a sugar high today, which is rather annoying. So forgive me if I am less perky and witty in my responses.

**Silver sliver**: Thorn's tail? Well, you know, they have to be alive and intact for _Roran_ to stab them with his hammer. Which is lame. As alsdssg said in her character-bashing fic, GET A SWORD! JEEZ, WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM! I mean, even a dagger would be better. Archery, if nothing else. But hammers! –mutters under breath-

Well, I wouldn't say Salem and Murtagh are exactly falling 'head over heels'. I mean, I _would_ explain their emotions in a lengthy character analysis that would make everybody fall asleep, but I would hope you understand why they kissed and all. Suffice it to say, the 'sudden love' between them caught even them by surprise.

**Aurora: **Thankees! Thorn is…well, conflicted. I'm busy planning out what EXACTLY happened to him now, and with my morbid imagination it's not going to turn out to be anything pleasant. So start pitying him.

**Ariel32:** Okay, okay! I think I made this chapter reasonably nice and long; it's seven pages now anyway even if you don't count responses. So really, you have no excuse for dying even if I DID post a sorta-cliffie.

School starts in two days? Wow, you're unlucky. I think my school starts around August 31 or something like that, but the school year ends sometime in July. Which sucks, really, but at least I get a few extra days now to sleep.

**Fallonaiya Sedai**: The Twins ain't dead yet! Remember, Roran has to bash in their brains at the end of Eldest? Well, he bashed in one brain, anyway, but the other Twin fell to pieces right after. So really he killed two birds with one stone.

GIVE ME SOME OF THAT CHOCOLATE! I want to feel all jazzed up. Right now, I think I'm in kinda a meditative mood or something. Very Zen. And it's annoying. I prefer the sugar highs.

**Alsdssg:** A FELLOW TAMORA PIERCE FAN! WH00T! –does happy dance- Isn't TP great? I mean, the _Song of the Lioness _Quartet mainly just sucked, but the rest are AWESOME. Are you a Neal/Yuki fan? There's this one TP fanfic writer whose writing I really like, Anaroriel. You should honestly read that fic, A Self Induced Ordeal, especially if you're a sucker for Neal.

On another tack, I have fun writing Galbatorix's character. It's exciting to make a person sarcastically all-out insane-evil-psycho-nut because you don't have to constantly worry about leaving some 'good' qualities behind like I have to do with Thorn.

**Kana410:** I already began parts of the Burning Plains chapter, but I'm finding that I have to throw some of it out because of the constantly shifting nature of this fic (meaning that I don't really follow the plot). It WILL be one of the easiest chapters for me to write, though, if I ever manage to get there without adding more chapters in between…

**Its.Garnet.Time**: Okay, I'm telling the joke…no throwing tomatoes if you're insulted…

So, one day, there's a redhead, a brunette, and a blond walking down the street doing drugs or something similarly illegal. They hear sirens and they're all, "Oh no, hide!" So the redhead hides behind a garbage can, a brunette behind a tree, and the blond lays low in a field.

The police come walking by. They catch sight of the redhead and they're wondering what it is. Frantic, the redhead yells, "Woof, woof!" and the police say, "Oh, it's just a dog," and they walk on.

They pass the brunette's hiding place and catch sight of the brunette. They're wondering what it is when the brunette calls, "Meow, meow!" The police go, "Oh, it's just a cat," and walk on.

Then they pass the blond's hiding place, and they catch sight of the blond. They're wondering what it is when the blond calls out, "Potato, potato."

Now you owe me a joke. Tell me the talking muffin one.

**Emerald Tiara: **Oh, nyah nyah nyah. Excuses, excuses. What kind of camp did you go to? I harbor fond memories of this extremely awesome camp (Hidden Springs, wh00t!) where everyday was just insane, and games were fast and bordered right on violence with no quarter given or taken by either side! Hah HAH! We got cool T-shirts, too, but I have no idea where mine went. –breaks down and sobs-

**Gewher**: Well, I'm glad _you're _happy about the extra chapter, because I (who has to WRITE the chapter) find myself less than ecstatic at the prospect. But anyway, I did manage to spark off that little…um…scene.

I'm actually kind of nervous about how the feedback is going to be for the chapter. I mean, I asked for Salem/Murtagh reviews last time and the responses were MAINLY positive, but on the whole the general opinion was 'the chemistry is fine'. Whatever that means. I think I took kind of a big leap in this chapter, which makes me nervous. –shivers-

**KATHiwatari**: Blech, and here was me hoping no one would notice. I know about the scrying scene, but for some reason I can't FIND THE SECTION THAT TELLS ME WHEN IT HAPPENS! I don't know **when** Eragon was scryed, so I'm going to have to patch it sometime AFTER all this melodrama is done. I don't know. I'll get to it, eventually, but I honestly don't know if it'll be accurate when it comes to dates.

But on a happier note, I managed to get all the other dates lined up! Yess! Rereading a book does have uses, apparently. Actually, my poor copy of _Eldest_ has been beaten up from one side of the universe to the other…tape is the only thing that keeps it together now.

**Mrs Pierre Bouvier**: So how's your opinion on them (M/S) now? Did I overdo it? –wrings hands worriedly- Yes, I have a tendency to repeat myself, but this point is really starting to gnaw on my nerves. I almost cut out that section three times today, replacing it one time with this bit where Thorn interrupts them before they actually kiss. Don't flame! I'll cry!

**Amantine**: -snickers- For some reason, threats make me laugh. I'm weird, aren't I? So you're probably going to hate me for THIS cliffhanger… -breaks out into hysterics- Aha. AHAHAHAHA!

Sorry about that. –cough-

**Coffee Grounds**: FRAPPUCHINO! GIMME THE FRAPPUCHINO! –starts chugging it down- You can keep the Reeses, I find they have too much peanut butter and I hate that. Dove chocolate is awesome, though, you have any of that?

I took about a year and a half of French, so maybe I can talk with your evil French Roast. –shudders and reconsiders- On second thought…let's not. That thing still gives me the creeps.

**Mistress-of-Misery:** I actually DID change the genre to tragedy, but that was before I actually started writing this chapter. Then, I felt like I had to change it back, just because…well…it IS romance now. Are you annoyed?

You're so suspicious of me. –bats eyelashes innocently- How could I possibly kill any of my characters? All (give or take one or two) of my characters that I have needed to kill off are already dead. And I did promise I wouldn't kill Salem, and I _always_ keep my promises. –giggles mischievously-

I do like algebra, actually, it was kind of fun figuring out all that stuff. It'll be interesting to discover calculus…after all I do want to go into computer sciences or something similar when I 'grow up' (whenever that may be) so I suppose mathematics are a vital part I need to learn.

**Read and review!**

…**oh wait, you already read. All that's left is for you to review, then!**


	37. Chapter 36

**Even though my muses ran off to Jamaica, I still managed to pull through and give you this chapter. –pffffbt- Haha, see, you ungrateful muses, I can still write without you!**

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_4/5/101_

Salem's mind was numb with panic. She stared at the hole, her breath coming in quick, animal pants. Gone was any rationality, any logic, any explanations. All that remained was that hole, looming in her sight.

Murtagh's hand touched her cheek lightly. Salem closed her eyes, struggling to focus. "Salem?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah." Salem forced herself to stop trembling. "I'm fine."

She loosened her fingers, wiping them on her dress. Taking a deep breath, she stared at Galbatorix, letting him see her defiance. She would not fall to pieces or beg. She would face whatever the hell he threw at her without breaking down and bawling.

Shoulders squared, Salem approached the hole. She turned partially backwards, holding her face expressionless as she stared at Galbatorix. "A light?"

His eyes crinkled in some insane hidden joke. He nodded. Without any visible command, a light flickered around his fingertips. He offered it to her, an eyebrow raised.

Salem was busy wondering how she was supposed to pick up light when Murtagh stepped in, his callused hands cupping the flame gently. "Go," he whispered to her. "I'll be right beside you."

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They left the safety of sunlight outside, winding deeper into the darkness of the tunnel. The air was thick, filled with the dust of ages. Murtagh held the flame aloft, staring around at the walls. How long had it been since somebody had come here?

Their path took them in a narrowly wound spiral, stretching deeper underground. As they got deeper, Murtagh could see faintly glimmering runes glowing in the walls. They shimmered faintly in the light before fading as the trio passed by.

"Do you know what they say?" Salem murmured softly into his ear.

Murtagh jumped. _Did you read my thoughts?_ he asked her mentally, more startled than offended.

_What? No. I was just wondering, _Salem replied in the same way. She ran a finger over the wall and pulled it away with a frown.

_What is it?_ Murtagh said, noticing her expression.

_No dust_. Salem looked around them, letting out a slow breath. _There's no dust on these runes. None. The air is getting clearer, too. Colder. _

_It's magic,_ Murtagh said slowly, glancing at a patch of glowing runes. _Anything can happen._

She laughed softly, a huff of air in the narrow tunnel. _I suppose_.

They walked on for a while longer, the silence sharp and flat. The walking was repetitive, mindless work, and it was a sharp surprise as his foot suddenly met a raised obsidian threshold and he went sprawling.

Next to him, Salem had managed to catch herself before she fell. Hopping over the threshold, she helped him up, a light grin touching her face. "You okay?" she murmured.

"Just my pride," Murtagh whispered back. He got slowly to his feet, his own smile fading as he examined the chamber around them. "Where the…"

The chamber was huge, the black walls arching up to form a ceiling that melted into darkness. The only source of light besides Murtagh's weirlight was dimly glowing crystals, spaced all around the wide chamber.

Murtagh took a few steps forward. A glassy pond lay a few yards ahead, dark and featureless. Murtagh glanced up with a frown. The surface of the pond was rippling as if hit by raindrops, but as far as he could tell, nothing was falling from above.

Next to him, Salem knelt, her eyes wide with wonder. She brushed the surface of the lake gently. "It's like jelly," she muttered. "Really odd jelly. I can't break the surface." She looked up, staring intently around her. "Where in Orcane's good world are we?"

"Ephicai Vinael, as I said," Galbatorix said unexpectedly from behind them. He paced lightly forward, gazing fondly down at the lake. "_In the heart of Kuthian, borne with all and born of none."_ He smiled down at them. "As written by the sagely elf Silcana Diriae in a scroll that was rotting with mildew. Of course, Diriae was also reputed to be insane, so I suppose that's why his scrolls were treated with such coarseness."

He sighed, looking up with a happy smile on his face. "What memories I have of this place, Murtagh."

Murtagh rose slowly, tension making him rigid. "Why are we here, Galbatorix?" he asked quietly.

Galbatorix looked back at him, smiling coldly. "Why don't you turn up that light, Knivarya? I have something you and your lady love might like to see."

Murtagh felt his cheeks go slightly red, but he said nothing. In his palms, the seed of light grew, expanding to light the chamber. He let go of the magic, panting slightly as he stared at the light, then back to Galbatorix. "Well?"

Galbatorix closed his eyes slightly, kneeling to touch the strange waters of the lake. Without opening his eyes, he spoke.

"I'm going to give you a little theology lesson, my pupil." Galbatorix placed his palms on the waters, pressing down slightly. "Where do people go when they die?"

Murtagh hesitated. "Into the void, into nothingness."

Galbatorix nodded his head a fraction of an inch. "Correct. And yet, there are places where the void may touch our world…the living world, I suppose you could say. This, Ephicai Vinael, is called the Vault of Souls for a reason."

He took a deep breath, and continued speaking. "Nobody knows if this place is natural or made by some terrible magic, but it has been the object of much study. Why do you think the Rider stronghold was here, on Vroengard? Not because they admired the scenery…it's because they discovered the Vault. And, with a little trial and error, learned its secrets one by one."

He stopped speaking for a moment, staring into the glassy depths. Whatever he found there made him laugh, shaking his head as he chuckled. "After all these years, Marafin?" he muttered. "Still drifting…"

Galbatorix stood up, dusting his hands off. "Here, a powerful Rider could call up the dead. Oh, not necessarily make them _live_ again, just…speak to them. Try as they might, the Riders couldn't find how to resurrect somebody. That magic was beyond them. But, they did learn something else. Something that was most likely the best-guarded secret in the whole Rider hierarchy; it was made known only to the most trusted, most elite Riders."

He paused, a glint in his eye. "Come here, you two. I have something to show you."

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Salem and Murtagh exchanged uncertain glances, but padded slowly to Galbatorix's side. The emperor looked at them with a misshapen leer as he cried out a searing word of power that struck off the walls, echoing and building. Black light streamed from Galbatorix's hands to meet the funnel of water that arched up from the lake, twisting together into a single tornado that wavered on the water's edge. Salem found herself reaching instinctively for Murtagh's hand; both of them watched with horrified curiosity as the funnel split, then twisted apart to reveal a human, locked behind a sheath of seething water.

"Oh, gods," Salem whispered.

The boy—whatever, whoever he was—was clearly in terrible pain, his mouth open in a soundless cry. He looked as if he was very young, no older than sixteen years old. His skin was ghastly pale as if he was dead, but he was moving, screaming silently as he thrashed against the prison of water that held him. "Oh, gods," Salem repeated, feeling her stomach thrash. "What the hell—stop, stop, stop—"

Murtagh grabbed her, holding her forcibly back. She turned her head away, burying her face in his shoulder as her stomach struggled to keep yesterday's meal in, her mind spinning with the image of that boy, trapped inside the water. His face was imprinted in her mind—his cry of horror, of pain, and desperation as he struggled to escape.

"Stop it!" she cried, a muffled shriek. "Stop!"

Galbatorix ignored her, watching the trapped boy intently. "Squeamish, Miss Blackfire?" he said, eyes gleaming with malice. "So stalwart. They all fall in the end."

He twisted his hand. The funnel spun one more time, then collapsed, bringing the boy down with it. They vanished beneath the water, showing no sign that they had ever been there.

"That's Marafin," Galbatorix said calmly, turning towards them. "Shruikan's original Rider. His unworthy, filthy little gutter scum Rider. He's still alive, but trapped between two worlds. He's alive in the world of the dead, a travesty that the natural laws cannot allow. Yet this lake, whatever it is, bends the laws just enough to ensure that he survives. However, lady Death is inimical of Life, and will take her fury out on whoever is fool enough to live in her domain." He smirked humorlessly.

"And what was the point of that little demonstration?" Murtagh said, but his voice was also shaking. "Why is that boy tortured like this, trapped?"

Galbatorix looked at him, a cruel smile on his lips. "You don't realize yet, little Murtagh?" he asked softly. "Well, maybe not. Not yet."

He beckoned. "Give me your hand, Brikijae Knivarya."

Murtagh felt his hand leap forward of its own volition, pulled forward by Galbatorix's magical command. He twitched uneasily, unable to pull away. "Miss Blackfire," Galbatorix commanded next. Salem stared at him with glassy, shocked eyes, backing away as she shook her head mutely.

"No," she whispered. "What kind of damn magic are you going to work on—"

Galbatorix sighed and made a gesture. Salem's eyes widened as a magical grip pulled her forward, nearly yanking her arm out as it settled into Galbatorix's hands. The emperor gave her an ironic bow at her horrified expression before gripping both of their hands tightly.

Murtagh gritted his teeth; Salem emitted a soft yelp. Blood began to streak down their wrists as Galbatorix magically opened jagged cuts on their palms, his face taut with concentration. Roughly, he pressed the two hands together, letting their blood mix together.

"Is there a point to this macabre ceremony?" Salem hissed, struggling to pull her hand free. "Or are you just sadistic?"

Galbatorix laughed, not looking up. "I think you could say both, my dear. There."

He touched his fingers to the cuts; they sealed up without a scar. Murtagh found that he could pull his hand away, flexing his fingers slowly as he touched the damp blood. "And now…?" he asked, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer.

Galbatorix smiled at the unnerved expression on Murtagh's face. "Don't be afraid. Your father quite loved it; he was positively giddy every step of the way. Like father, like son?" He paused, studying Murtagh's face. "I suppose not."

"Father?" Salem whispered faintly. "What has his father got to do with any of it?"

"Oh!" Galbatorix cried with exaggerated surprise. "Oh, my goodness! You didn't _tell _her?" He giggled, eyes bright. "Dear, dear, Murtagh…Morzanson…"

Murtagh froze, feeling a chill creep up his spine. He heard nothing from Salem, but that was probably because she was white with shock or something. _Like Eragon,_ he thought bitterly. _They all recoil with shock, no matter how much I try to destroy my parentage._

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Salem looked down at her wrist and the red streaks that layered her palm. She took a deep breath, her mind clicking. "So, he's Morzan's son," she said finally, putting as much casualness as she could into her voice. "Anything else?"

Galbatorix's smile wilted a little. "No, I'm afraid not. Unless you want to see the dashing scar he's got…"

"I'll pass," she said coolly.

Galbatorix was definitely looking sour now, but he nodded grudgingly. "Fine." Almost pouty, he added, "Are you sure?"

Salem gave him her coldest glare. Galbatorix sighed, then nodded, looking a little contrite. "Oh, all right, you horrible woman. To business."

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As Galbatorix turned away, Murtagh hesitated before turning to Salem. She stood a few yards away, her arms wrapped about herself, a distant expression on her face.

"Salem?" he said hesitantly, his fingertips brushing her face.

Her eyes flicked to him, then away.

Murtagh waited patiently, a seed of pain rising in his heart. She wasn't going to act like Eragon, was she? She was so like his brother in every respect; would she react in the same way? "Salem?" he repeated after a moment.

"I'm going to die here," she said, very calm. "If not dead, then something equivalent to it. Did you see Marafin…or whatever his name was…" she shivered, fear lacing her expression. "To be trapped like that, in the realm of the dead?"

"Then you don't…" Murtagh began, before realizing she was talking about something else. "Then you don't care?"

Salem smiled, shaking her head as she took his hand in hers. "Murtagh…I don't care. Your father could be Galbatorix for all it matters, though I have to admit that would be kind of creepy." She sighed, looking off into the distance.

"Oh," he said softly.

She nodded, but her face was distracted, seeing something that was beyond him. Abruptly, she changed the subject. "Have you ever loved another?"

Murtagh hesitated, taken aback. "Why do you ask?"

Salem sighed. "Because I naturally want to know all about your past loves so I can mock them in whatever hell I'm in…no, you idiot. I just…I…I think I know why Galbatorix brought me here. Why he took all these trouble to send you after me. I think it's just another plot of his, to keep you under his control."

_No…_

Vividly, Murtagh recalled the image of Marafin, imprisoned in that whirling vortex of water, screaming silently as he struggled to break free. Murtagh swallowed, feeling nausea rise up in him. "He wouldn't."

"He would," she said softly, seeing the realization in his eyes. "Murtagh…"

He didn't want to realize it, yet some part of him had long known this was coming. "And what do you want of me?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"To kill me, if you can," Salem said. Her voice was laced with fear, but also a deepening desperation. "I don't know what odd rituals he'll need, but I'd much prefer death to…" she bit her lip, not finishing the sentence. "Please."

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Galbatorix laughed.

The sound came out louder than he expected, echoing off the empty walls. He could taste their surprise bubbling through their mind; they had forgotten he was there.

"Dear, dear, Brikijae," he said, letting his amusement seep into his voice. "You've gotten so meek. I wouldn't have thought you'd fall for anyone."

He turned partially, savoring the expressions on their faces. They looked like deer caught in the hunter's arrowsight, or a thief caught by the guard. "One pleading word, one cow-eyed look, and there you are fumbling like a newborn."

He circled them slowly, enjoying their shock immensely. It gave him a grotesque thrill, knowing that he was able to control them as he liked, to jerk them around in whatever way he chose to make them dance. He stepped up close to Murtagh, breathing harshly into his face. "She's quite intuitive, isn't she? I see why you like her; you're both perfectly matched in stupidity. You don't have the nerve, do you? You can kill a hundred men if you so please, which you do quite often, but you don't have the nerve to save your _sweetheart_ from what she knows perfectly well she's going to have." Galbatorix laughed. "How charming."

"Don't," Murtagh said, his voice a plea, a whisper.

"Get away from me, Brikijae Knivarya," Galbatorix said quietly, turning away from him in cold contempt. "You disgust me."

He was aware that Murtagh pulled away and discarded the fact. He turned to Salem, noting with approval that she wasn't crying or screaming or pleading for her life. "And you. Salem Blackfire. Would Connac Blackfire happen to be related to you?" he asked, leaning forward.

Galbatorix could feel her confirmation in her mind, then sharp panic. He took a deep breath, intoxicated with it, letting her fear roll into his mind. "Yes. I see."

"Don't you touch him," she whispered venomously. "He's loyal to you, for some incomprehensible reason, don't you dare, _don't you kill him!_"

The last words were screamed into his face, and Galbatorix could see that she was on the brink of panic. So much the better.

He turned away, looking out over the bleak length of the lake. The voices, heightened by the power here, were a raging inferno as they called out lost fragments of who they were, seeking to taste a living mind. Raising Marafin from the depths had only served to add to the voices until they became almost intolerable.

Galbatorix let them scream. They were lost and dead, the memories of those who had been in the past. Completely irrelevant to the matter at hand. He'd lived nearly a century with these voices raging in his head, and had learned to ignore them.

_Your father shared these with me,_ Galbatorix said, touching Murtagh's mind, letting him feel what he felt. _He, too, came here. He was the first to embrace them, to enjoy the power they gave him. They are a blessing and a curse, your path to magic and power…_

_No,_ Murtagh said, faltering. _Not like that!_

_Yes,_ Galbatorix said viciously. _Would you care to try defiance?_

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Murtagh gasped as an intolerable pain tore at his stomach, streaking up into his chest. He dropped heavily to the ground, struggling for air as the grip tightened, the pain blazing like an oiled flame.

He coiled up into a ball, refusing to scream as the fire streaked into his spine, crushing down onto him. Closing his eyes, he forced his breaths out slowly, fighting the pain, waiting as each second trickled by slowly. Waiting, though it would never come, for the end.

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A scream cracked the air, shuddering as it rose and fell. There was a heavy crack, then the acid scent of aging stone filled the air.

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Murtagh threw his head up, panting heavily. The pain bled away, leaving nothing but whispers in his muscle and veins. He could taste blood in his mouth, where he had bitten his lip so deeply as to draw blood.

He sat up gingerly, leaning on the wall for support. His vision was hazy, clearing slowly. When he dared to, he stood up slowly, wavering as he held onto the wall.

_What happened?_

Galbatorix stood a few feet away from him, a crumpled heap lying by his feet. The emperor looked up, his eyes blazing with anger and shock. A scratch arced down one flawless cheek, blood beading lightly at the edges.

"Salem…" Murtagh said softly, recognizing the body at Galbatorix's feet.

"Yes," Galbatorix said grimly. He nudged her with his foot, a look of anger and admiration in his face. "She attacked me. I didn't expect it, too busy focusing on you. It was my own mistake. Honestly, though, I didn't think she cared that much…"

He looked up at Murtagh, letting out a slow huff. "She's not dead. Pick her up. No more use in delaying."

Murtagh stood where he was, his mind spinning. "She attacked you?" he whispered, unable to believe it.

"Yes, isn't that what I just said?" Frowning, Galbatorix brushed a finger across his cheek lightly; the cut healed instantly. "Pick her up, let's get this over with."

Murtagh knelt by her side, brushing back her hair. She was alive, just unconscious. He looked up at Galbatorix, who was tapping a foot waiting for him. Dropping his head, he looked back at Salem.

_She wanted to die,_ he thought suddenly. _Rather than live as Marafin does. I…_

It was a decision that took a fraction of a second to make. Before Galbatorix could stop him, Murtagh pulled out his belt knife, plunging it towards her neck.

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Galbatorix twitched his fingers. It was a minimal movement, but one that was accompanied by a command of power. The knife halted bare millimeters away, the point shaking as Murtagh struggled to complete the action, complete the blow.

"Dear, dear," Galbatorix said sardonically. "Having a little trouble, are you?"

He pulled the knife away, throwing it contemptuously onto the ground. "Let me rephrase my command, shall I?" he hissed, bending in close. "When I say _pick her up,_ I bloody well mean, _pick…her…up!_"

These words were reinforced with Murtagh's ancient name, forcing the young man to do his will. Helplessly, struggling against the chains of magic, Murtagh did as ordered.

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Salem awoke slowly, shifting restlessly. There was a throbbing pain in her head, probably from when she…when she…well, when she did whatever got her unconscious in the first place.

_What…where…_

Somebody was carrying her. For a moment, she was a child again, cradled in Eian's arms as he carried her home.

_Eian's dead_.

The thought was startling. _Eian's dead? Then…who's carrying me…?_

She forced her eyes open, searching. The face that looked down at her was familiar, in a hazy way. Salem smiled in tired recognition. Murtagh…

His expression was stark, filled with bleak pain. Salem reached up slightly, wondering why. The words took a while to get out; for some reason her head wasn't working very well. "What's wrong?" she managed finally.

He turned away as if he had been struck. Salem was aware that he was setting her down; she was sinking through some thick, jelly-like substance. _What…what in the world…_

She shifted, trying to break free. _What _is_ this stuff? What are those…_

Sudden, shocking agony shot through her. From all around, tendrils of a ghastly light came to streak around her, screaming angrily at her very existence. _You're not wanted here!_ they cried, eating at her skin and bone. _What do you want of us, you're not allowed_—

Salem fought, struggling to reach the surface. But there wasn't any light, none but the distorted glow emitted from the streaks as they tore into her. _Where—what—no!_

And all she could do was to fight, thrashing against their cold grip and wondering why.

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Murtagh fell to his knees, paralyzed as thousands of voices rushed through his head. They pounded viciously at his temples, screaming for a release, threatening to split his head open.

A baby's cry, a lover's whisper, the last creak of a dying grandfather, the whistle of a working mother, the hue and cry as countless men fought and died, all of these streaked through his head, passing by without form or order. All of them, they all wanted to live through him, to be heard once more before they vanished back into the void.

Maybe he was screaming. He didn't know.

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_End of Chapter Thirty-Six_

Nine pages! –does happy dance- Anyway, did you like the chapter? Seriously, show of hands: how many of you were expecting this?

If you _weren't_ expecting it (and even if you were) I hope you liked this chapter…or not, because of its absolute depressingness. Anyway, I wrote this chapter to Jolin rap (Jolin is this Asian rap star, she's been on the Taiwan top twenty for ages now because her music is awesome), which really isn't the best morbid-chapter-writing-music. So if it's not depressing enough, _pardon moi_. If it is…well…um…cheers for me?

-blinks stupidly and stares at readers- Um…

Yeah, whatever. In case you're wondering WHY Galbatorix did all this, well, I did say in the chapter. Perhaps not straight out, but the reasons should be clear. By a living sacrifice, a Rider (or any powerful magicker) can harness the power of the void, the dead. This is how Galbatorix gets his powers, his unlimited magic. Oromis knows this, but regards it as a secret Eragon should never know simply because it requires the living death of another being. And of course, by sacrificing Salem, this is how Murtagh gets his magic.

Toodles. I'm skipping onto reviewer responses now…

**Silver sliver**: Yeah, I heard that they'll release the Eragon movie trailer in October or something like that. I'm wondering, though, do you know where they get pictures? I mean, I've seen pictures of the movie, but when I surf the net I can never find anything besides that ugly big picture at the Eragon movie site.

School! BLECH! EWWW! I'm really not looking forward to school next week…-sigh-

**Kana410**: The conversation between M/S will play a pivotal role in the Burning Plains. You'll see in…um…three updates. Yeah. Chapter 37 is next, then 38 (no longer a maybe chapter), and then the Burning Plains.

**Emerald Tiara**: Well, you know, with the completion of this chapter there's not really much to say. I'll finish up Murtagh's training, do the scrying scene, then off we skip to the Burning Plains. What fun. Yee.

**Ariel32**: Hah! You will not believe how much romance research I did for chapter 35. I flipped through my collection of Tamora Pierces (lots of romance in that, believe me), some Harry Potter (Cho/Harry, Ron/Hermione), and a few other books that would be very tedious to outline. I kept on wondering how you fall in love…but hey, the bet paid off. Last chapter received a lot of positive feedback, which makes me happy.

**Mistress-of-Misery:** -glares at genre- Didn't I change you? Why are you still tragedy! I must go and change that as soon as I finish up these responses. If I remember, anyhow.

Yeah, I read Atwater-Rhodes. Hahaa, if you're in the mood for more weirdness-slash-morbid-insanity I have a fic centering around _Shattered Mirror_, about Sarah's father…it's a oneshot, it's seriously…weird, and…yeah. –trails off lamely-

**Mrs Pierre Bouvier**: Aww, thanks! –coos happily- Salem/Murtagh fluff is…excuse me, _has_ always been my hardest thing to write. I'm glad you like that chapter. Actually, that was probably the easiest S/M fluff chapter of them all. But that's not saying much.

**Fallonaiya Sedai**: So, do you think I can round it up appropriately now? –points at depressing scene- I did feel a little regretful about writing it (I do like Salem very much), but it's all for the good of the story.

**Gewher**: Oh man! Please don't be sad all day now; I mean, if I even managed to get the effect. I worked out this chapter over the course of two or three hours after a couple days off and decided to post immediately, so there's very little editing in here.

You're a K/D fan? Huh. Wait, are you a Neal/Yuki fan too, then? Seriously, though, how much older than Kel is Dom? I mean, he's a sergeant to her squire. Say he's about 22, while she's 14. An eight year difference is a little too much…

**Alsdssg**: Haha, I read a lot of fics, I just never bother to review. When I do, they're nearly always anonymous reviews. I think I did drop one by yours, though, I don't remember what username I used. It was anonymous, though…hey, whatever.

You like Nawat! I don't think the whole Nawat/Aly thing is very convincing. I mean, they're separated for oh-so-long and the romance…the fizzy feeling…ISN'T THERE. But hey, whatever TP says…

But yes, I do like Numair very much. Numair/Daine is the best relationship in the whole Tortall series, I think.

**Coffee Grounds**: Yippee! –launches celebration balloons- No more French Roast, whee whee whee!

Do they even have coffee in Alagaesia? I mean, they have ale and wine and faelnirv and lots of other tickly things. Coffee would be the perfect addition to the whole drink-thing. Or else, if you ever manage to go to Alagaesia, you could set up a chain of Starbucks there and become a bazillionaire. Just a thought.

**Its.Garnet.Time**: Yep, I couldn't resist adding the extra angst-y section with Salem defending Murtagh. I think it adds to the effect….

You're forgetting to email again! –sobs brokenheartedly-

**Amantine: **One month. You have ONE ENTIRE MONTH BEFORE SCHOOL STARTS! OHMYGOD! What kind of freaky school do you go to? ONE MONTH? I want to go there! Man, you are so derangedly lucky!

**K.A.T. Hiwatari**: YESSSSSSSSS! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! This is perfect. The scrying scenes…well, that means I still get to make a credible scrying scene for Murtagh! I can just explain the first one away as Galbatorix, while the second is Murtagh. Have a cookie, you are awesome! –tosses cookies-

**Aurora: **Nah, the sword in under the Menoa tree. Or something like that. Nasty werecats. But your guesses were fifty percent correct; Galbatorix did use Salem. In a very disgusting way, may I add. –rereads chapter and sighs- Sorry, Salem, but I HAD to…

**I love all you reviewers! Thankees so much!**

**Now review!**


	38. Chapter 37

**WANTED: Three muses, two female and one male by the names of Lisle, Osprey, and Deinr. Last seen in Jamaica on the twenty-second of August. PM blizzardstar2000 if you have any information on their whereabouts. Reward! **

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_4/5/101_

His vision was blurred, a murky pane of colors that had no shape. He couldn't hear himself, couldn't feel anything. The voices exploded in his mind, shoving their way into every nook and cranny of his head, blocking out every other sensation.

A single voice rose above the rest, providing an anchor for him. Murtagh turned towards it desperately, struggling for any support in the world of madness. He couldn't gather his thoughts long enough to recognize it, but anything, _anything_ was welcome.

_You will learn to control it, with time,_ it said calmly. _You are near the Lake. They will fade with distance, though they will never completely vanish._

Murtagh couldn't reply, nor did he have to. _Sleep,_ the voice commanded. _I will take you back to Uru'baen_.

His distorted vision warped, then faded. Blessed silence came, then peace.

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_Date unknown_

If only you knew…

_Murtagh screamed, fighting away the ghosts of his nightmares. He couldn't see them, but they were there, lurking in the shadows. Waiting for the opportunity to take them._

_He could see them, all of them. Eragon, Hrothgar, Ajihad, Arya, Nasuada—they flitted at the corners of his vision, unable to see or hear him. He cried out, calling their names. They never heard._

_The shadows drew nearer, glowing faintly with a sick red light. He was defenseless, lost to their mercy, and they knew it._

_He staggered to his feet. _So kill me!_ he thought angrily, fists curled in token defiance. _Godsdamn it, do you think I _care!_

_The shadows flickered, cruel malice clear in their movements._ There are things worse than death,_ they seemed to say. _You have only scratched the surface…

_They moved closer, wrapping themselves around him, their slimy beings forcing themselves into his very skin. Murtagh gasped in disgust and revulsion, fighting to escape their foul hold—_

To rebuild, to regrow. Don't you understand?

_The scene changed…_

_He was three again, cowering under Morzan's drunken rage. The Rider ranted, bloodshot eyes bulging as he screamed at his son. His hand moved; a flash of steel lit the air._

_And then overwhelming fire raked Murtagh's spine, agony forcing the boy down to his knees. Morzan collapsed in a corner, muttering in a drunken rage. None dared to help Murtagh in the Forsworn's presence; he was forced to crawl to the adjoining hall before anyone came. Blood streaked down the floor, leaving a trail of crimson that would never truly fade._

Alagaesia must be remade, and only we have the ability to enrich her. The elves can offer no more; it is time for the human race to dominate and make new.

_A figure stood a few feet away from him; Murtagh recognized her instantly even though her back was turned. He stood perfectly still, unwilling to believe his eyes. _"Salem…"_ he whispered finally, hand outstretched._

_She whirled around, hazel eyes wide with horror. _"Murtagh!"_ she cried, pulling away. _"What are you doing—this isn't safe for you, get away, go!"

_The ground underneath them churned, throwing Murtagh to his knees. Salem stumbled, jerking away from his touch. _"Salem!" _he shouted, lurching forward. _"Salem, don't!"

_He felt a light touch on his shoulder, and shuffled around to stare into Marafin's dark, solemn eyes. _"You cannot exist here," _the once-Rider said softly. _"You cannot hope to know us, and you are lost to us. Return to the living; there is nothing for you here."

_Marafin stepped away to Salem's side, whispering quietly into Salem's ear. She nodded, fighting tears as she understood._

_Both of them walked away, melding seamlessly into the darkness._

_Murtagh stumbled to his feet as colors swirled, shifting about in this landscape of madness. The sound around him rose, screaming in intensity and fury, resounding in their passion as they made themselves heard. _

There will be a golden age once our foes are gone. Without the elves, without the Varden, we can turn our attention from warfare to peace.

Don't you understand?

The Riders will be reborn, and Alagaesia will unite. Without turmoil, without rebellion, we can pour our efforts into restoring her to her former glory. The elves can care for her no longer; we must do it ourselves.

_Don't you understand?_

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His fever rose, bringing hallucinations with it. Murtagh no longer slept quietly; he thrashed and raved, delirious and sweating. Next to him, Galbatorix sat calmly, murmuring softly to him and holding his hand.

Thorn paced uneasily, hearing his Rider's faint cries as he fought his nightmares. _I can't stand this,_ he thought angrily, scuffing the ground. _Why doesn't he _do_ something!_

"Because I do not wish to, young dragon," Galbatorix said quietly. "Patience is a virtue you may wish to attain."

Thorn whirled, vermillion eyes glaring furiously at him. _He's going to die!_ Thorn screamed. _You can heal him, you can help him, but you do nothing but sit there like a—_

Galbatorix raised an eyebrow. Thorn fell silent, his flanks heaving.

"I don't believe you fully understand," Galbatorix said at length, standing up slowly. "There are forces greater than you at work here. Fate is a wheel; she brings us up as she turns, and also grinds us into the dirt when our time comes. The Riders, under elfin guidance, rose and fell. It is now time for the human race to take over." He touched Thorn's scales gently, almost tenderly. "Don't you agree?"

Thorn trembled under Galbatorix's touch, shaking. The emperor's words were soft and alluring, holding a promise of relief. _No—_ he said weakly, half-lost. _You're wrong. You torture, you kill, you destroy—_

"Only when I am threatened," Galbatorix said calmly. "You would do the same, to defend your Rider. How can you call me cruel when you would do the same thing yourself?"

_I wouldn't—_

"Tell me," Galbatorix said softly, cutting him off. "If you were threatened, would you fight back?"

_Yes,_ Thorn whispered, knowing what direction this was going.

"If Murtagh was threatened, would you destroy his attacker?"

_Yes, but—_

"And so I do too," Galbatorix interrupted quietly. "I will defend myself against threats if need be. But all I wish, _all I want,_ is for an Alagaesia united in peace. The Riders, the old Riders, they were corrupted, Thorn. Corrupted by the elves and centuries of lazing about. I destroyed them, yes, but it was for the overall wellbeing. Change is necessary, and I played my part in this turn of fate."

Thorn's head dropped, lost in Galbatorix's voice. The Rider was calm, persuasive, his voice gentle and melodic. The dragon wavered, shaking, remembering what Galbatorix had done to him. _What will you do when the wheel comes down on you?_ he managed.

Galbatorix laughed. "It won't. Fate is a fickle lady, but she honors those who mean only goodwill towards her people. I will not let Alagaesia be destroyed under the hands of insecurity and riot, Thorn. She will prosper, under my reign."

He patted Thorn's side. "Think about it."

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Murtagh's fever dropped over the course of a week, though his hallucinations stayed. His words were weak, mumbled in a low tone of voice that no one could catch. Once back in the palace, two mutes were assigned to take care of him, their tongues having been cut out to keep secrets. Besides them, only the emperor was allowed into the room. The door was kept locked at all times.

The red dragon was often seen hovering on the roof, too. The guards kept away from it, always watching it for any sign of aggression. For its part, it ignored them, pacing at an edge of the wall.

It seemed to be waiting for something.

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_End of Chapter Thirty-Seven_

One more chapter until the Burning Plains chapter. Yes, this is an exceptionally short one, but I think it's fairly important.

When I post the next chapter, the date (story date) will pick up a couple months later. I'll also write in the scrying scene with that chapter; I haven't forgotten it!

Review responses…

**Silver sliver**: Well, you know, this story had a set ending, so it's not exactly a happily-ever-after kind of fairy tale. I hate fairy tales, they suck anyway. Too much stereotypical happiness makes me puke.

But when you started reading, did you think it would end happily? The title of this ff IS Thorn and **Misery**…

-nods and smiles-

**Silver pup**: Too much depression can also be rather stereotypical, I guess. I mean, I did promise I wouldn't kill Salem, but that still leaves plenty of room in my morbid imagination to come up with all sorts of nasty fates. And that's what I did. Hahaha, I'm so proud of myself.

Who did Morzan use? Hrrm. –ponders thoughtfully- _I_ think he should've used Oromis, but that old elf had to be alive to teach Eragon to watch ants, so I suppose not. Since Galbatorix's sacrifice was symbolic, Morzan's would be too. I bet the sadistic nutheads would take some pleasure from seeing an enemy sink under the surface.

But who exactly? I don't know. You'll have to use your imagination. Maybe a mentor, maybe a lost friend…

**Kana410**: The point I tried to make in this chapter that while the whole VoS thing _started_ the bitterness and go-Galbatorix idealogy, it's the fever and (later on) his training that fully ingrain the thought pattern into his mind. I'm a big stupid believer in the subconscious; that is, if you _hear_ a thing and are constantly _surrounded_ by a certain thing, eventually you're going to start thinking that way whether you like it or not. And that's what's happening here.

**Ariel32**: Hahah, your review made me laugh! Hope you get your windows fixed sometime soon. I had no idea you had such a piercing scream!

I'm cruel and evil, that's why I JUST have to make Murtagh miserable. That and the fact that I need to make Murtagh bitter enough to go beat up Eragon at the Burning Plains.

**Aurora**: Aaaah! You listen to Jolin too? Ain't she awesome? A Wonder in Madrid is my favorite; you should see the music videos. She is SO good at acting little-kid cute. Plus, I think she just went to Madrid and started filming without any notice to the locals, so you can see all these people staring at the crazy Asian lady as she walks down the streets singing. It's hilarious.

**Mistress-of-Misery**: Waah, you caught me. Yes, I did take the idea from that. In fact, whatever I read usually manages to come into my writing in one form or the other. I got the imagery for the VoS from this kid's book and expanded on it. I take emotions and crap like that and change them as I feel like. Whatever I read eventually gets spat out as writing.

I'm so dead lazy. I wrote up another chapter to my Shattered Mirror fic; it's been sitting on my computer for days now. Too lazy to update it. Blech.

**Mrs Pierre Bouvier**: It's so hard to find triumphant evil characters these days. I mean, all of them eventually get kicked down in one form or the other; it's hard to find an evil character that's evil at the top of the ladder. BUT NOT GALBATORIX! AHAHAHA!

**Fallonaiya Sedai**: They didn't 'make out'! They KISSED! It was a dignified, noble kiss, not some groping-lets-roll-around-in-the-grass kinda kiss. –huffs indignantly-

But hey, in the end they're dead. Or Salem is anyway. Or as good as. GAH, I don't know what I'm talking about…

**Alsdssg**: In the Vault, in the world of the dead I suppose you could say, there's lots of power just waiting to be tapped. By tying your blood to another person, and then enmiring that person in the Vault, you can access that power. Galbatorix did it, all the Forsworn did it, and now Murtagh has done it. I'll show the results more clearly as we get into Murtagh's training…

**Coffee Grounds**: Eragon could've used some coffee back at the Burning Plains…well, if not that, he could've had some faelnirv. Isn't it supposed to restore strength or whatever? Give you a nice fizzy feeling? Instead, the stupid git wasted it scrying for Katrina. –kicks Mary-sue and glares-

Wait, wouldn't it be more HP 4? With the second task and all, where you have to dive into the lake? Poor, stupid Harry, so noble and with way too much 'moral fiber'…

**Amantine**: What! When did I mention Eragon's reaction? I don't recall doing that…

Jeezy, you are SO LUCKY. 15th of September, what a psycho school! I wanna go there. My school starts…next Wednesday…and I have so much summer homework I haven't even started. –sigh-

**K.A.T. Hiwatari**: Yep, the whole souls-thingy in _Eldest_ is what gave me the idea for the VoS. Really, it multipurposes so well: it turns Murtagh bitter, it gives Murtagh unlimited magic, AND it fits with _Eldest!_ Yay! Point for me! –does happy dance-

-munches cookie- I could do with more of these. I'm SO hungry right now, I swear I could eat a horse. Or a steak. Mmm. Big, thick, juicy steak…

**Dark Seroph**: Hrrrm. Murtagh's ancient name I took from parts of words…_brisingr_, _knifr_, _jierda_…mash them together, add a few ancient-sounding endings, and poof you have Brikijae Knivarya.

That actually wasn't his original name. Originally, his ancient name was _Malticai du Kaiya_. But it got scrapped along with the original Chapter twos and threes…

**Review! Review! Review! Review! –giggles insanely-**


	39. Chapter 38

**Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I have good news and bad news…you want the bad news first? Yeah, you do.**

**SCHOOL. HAS. STARTED.**

**-keels over and dies-**

**So, yep, we are back to once a week updates. I can no longer update every 4/5 days now…-points finger at school accusingly- IT'S ALL THEIR FAULT!**

**The good news is…**

**MY MUSES HAVE BEEN CAPTURED! –insert evil cackle here-**

**Hahahaahah. Found them releasing killer French Roast beans; it took me the better part of a week to finally stalk them down. They are in custody and rest assured THAT THEY ARE NEVER ESCAPING AGAIN!**

**Actually, I have no idea why I keep them around anyway. They're next to useless and always running off. –glares-**

**Anyway, I know I said I would start this chapter a coupla months later, but I found that I couldn't make the jump realistically and stick in the scenes I wanted at the same time. So this particular chappie picks up fairly near the VoS chapter; it's just a few weeks later. Enjoy!**

**Note: This chapter contains some major swearing, but you can take that, right?**

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_4/27/101_

Murtagh gasped, jerking sharply awake. He closed his eyes, swallowing as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his forehead uneasily.

He stood up, groping for the pitcher of water near the bed. For some reason, he felt slightly sick. The voices seemed to sense his weakness, rising in intensity.

_Oh, shut it,_ he thought irritably at them. _Go to hell._

Stalking over to the balcony doors, he swung them open, letting the cool night air flow into the room. It was a relief on his bare skin, wiping away some of the nightmare sweat.

_You're awake,_ came a disgruntled voice.

Murtagh sighed. _Yes._

_I see. Well, I've got babysitting duty, so try not to kill yourself. You want a doggy biscuit to keep you occupied?_

_You don't need to snap out at me,_ Murtagh said dully.

_News to me,_ Thorn muttered. A sound came from the roof above; Thorn's new roost was just above Murtagh's apartments. _Things are changing._

_They always are,_ Murtagh said listlessly. _Changes must be made, Thorn._

_Do they?_ the dragon snorted. _Well, why don't we just have to start a huge war and change everything while we're at it? Stability? Peace? Pssh. Why bother?_

_Necessary war,_ Murtagh answered softly.

_So you say. But what does that mean?_

Murtagh sighed, a soft sound of defeat. For some reason, his fingers crept to his back, tracing the scar Morzan had left on him. _I suppose that…in order to have peace, some sacrifices must be made._

Thorn considered this. _And who decides what's sacrificed and what's not?_

_The winners,_ Murtagh answered instantly. _Predator and prey. The strong win, the weak fall. That's the way it's always been, even with the elves_.

_Is that _really_ what you think? Then what happens if _we're_ the weak ones?_

_Then we fall._

A dark sigh came from above, and the tip of a red tail dropped slightly over the roof. _So that's what you believe?_ Thorn asked sharply. _Then apply your philosophy to something else, won't you? Galbatorix, admittedly, is the strongest. So that means he can do whatever the crap he wants, then, correct? If he wanted to dance a conga on the roof, he could do it whenever the hell it pleases him. So if he wants to torture, to maim, to kill, that's all fine because he's the stronger one. No?_

_I—_Murtagh began.

_No, no, don't say anything, my sagely Rider,_ Thorn continued, his voice growing angrier. _So if he wants to play havoc and shit with our lives, that's all fine. If he wants to destroy Alagaesia through warfare, torture, and magic, hey that's great too! And if he wants to—_

_Thorn!_ Murtagh snapped. _Stop it!_

Thorn subsided, but Murtagh could sense seething anger under the mental link. Finally, the red dragon said in a very controlled voice,_ You're blinded. _

_Blinded?_ Murtagh demanded, his own emotions tainted by Thorn's anger. _Oh, and I suppose you're the wise one to see!_

_More than you are!_ Thorn exploded. _You're such a slobbering little puppy dog of Galbatorix's. You _idolize_ the bastard, don't you, you—_

_I do not!_ Murtagh yelled, stunned.

With a single violent burst of sound, Thorn leapt off the roof. Ignoring the potential danger, he set a claw on the balcony as he stared viciously at Murtagh. _Then why do you _listenThorn demanded. _I can smell the stink all over your thoughts, even if you won't admit it. You admire him, don't you? You think his ideals are something worth following. _

Murtagh whirled away from the balcony, breathing hard. Memories raced through his head, spilling over into his thoughts. During his fever after the Vault of Souls, he had been thrown through a twisting maelstrom of dreams, all of them nightmares of one form or the other. The only relief to be found was in the calm melody of the voice—the voice that told of Galbatorix's dreams, or of his portrait of a perfect Alagaesia…

He'd believed, because there was nothing else for him to do. In that world of chaos, the only pathway to peace was to listen. Afterwards, even after he awoke, those dreams remained…

_Don't you understand?_ Murtagh said finally, his voice faint and pleading as he turned back to Thorn. _To have—to have a rebuilt Alagaesia. Is that so bad?_

_Depends on the cost,_ Thorn said grimly. _On what he's willing to do in order to achieve it. Do you really think his 'perfect' Alagaesia is going to really have the best in mind for everyone? Where are the ethics? The morals? Where do you draw the line!_

Murtagh didn't reply. Thorn drew a shaky breath and said in a softer voice, _In order to have peace, yes, some sacrifices must be made. But it's not up to you, or to me, or to whatever damn god is out there to decide. Power carries the decisions, but ethics and temperance must make the final choice. Galbatorix failed to see that. He's always failed to see that._

There was a long, heavy pause. Finally, Murtagh said in a quiet voice, _That's what Salem said, too._

_I know,_ Thorn said. Feeling Murtagh's surprise, he snapped, _Well, I'm not deaf, am I? Your conversations aren't as nearly private as you think_.

It was a shock to feel. Murtagh should've known that his words with Salem was listened into, but to actually hear it from somebody…_And—you knew of the—_

_Yes,_ Thorn said mulishly. _Not that I wanted to. Your emotions were so strong at that point I had to block most of them off._

Murtagh bit his lip, staring off into the distance blankly. _Salem—_he began, struggling to phrase his words. _I—I loved her, Thorn. Don't—don't try to—_

_I won't,_ Thorn muttered, touching the turmoil of emotions in his Rider.

The dragon's mental touch gave Murtagh a kind of empty solace. He sighed, dropping heavily down onto the bed. _I don't know_, he said finally, his voice lost. _I don't know about anything._

_Then I'll tell you,_ Thorn said quietly. _You respect him, don't you? You think his goals are something worth aiming for. He's ruthless, yes, but it takes exactly that quality to dominate. And once he's in solid control, you think that he'll change for the better and work to the improvement of Alagaesia. Am I correct so far?_

Murtagh nodded mutely. Thorn sensed his confirmation and continued. _It all comes down to the matter of price. How much will Galbatorix's dream cost? It's already taken your swe—Salem from you. And from Galbatorix's first domination until now, how many people have died? How many people will die? How many lives will be taken at his whim?_

The dragon paused at this point, considering. _I'll tell you. You're going to hate me, but I'll tell you anyway. Galbatorix is a fucking bastard. His ideals are shit, his morals are crap, and there's nothing he cares about but his own fat ass. By following him, you're just walking into the same muckfield that he lives in! Listen to me, Murtagh. He cares about _nothing_, nothing but himself and his own glory. By following him, you're falling for every trap he's ever laid._

_And how are you so certain?_ Murtagh cried. _How do you know? You've never heard him, Thorn, never up close. What he's shown to you…it's not what he could be._

Silence. In a very soft voice, he said, _What happened to you, Thorn?_

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There was nothing but dull, thick silence from above. Inside his mind, Murtagh felt a harsh barrier slam down between them, blocking away all emotions. No emotions could come in or out.

Finally, Thorn said harshly, _You don't need to know_.

Murtagh stayed silent, waiting.

The dragon slapped his wings once, vaulting up onto the roof, out of view. Murtagh could hear agitated pacing coming from the ceiling. _You don't have to tell me if you don't want to,_ he said quietly.

_Well, aren't you a little hero!_ Thorn spat. _So noble. 'Oh, not if you don't _want_ to'. How kind of you. Well, stuff your morals, stuff your heroism, because I don't need any of it! _There was a fierce, agitated pause, then Thorn demanded, _say something!_

_What happened?_ Murtagh repeated softly.

_Nothing! Just nightmares, and hell, and seeing people torn to pieces. Do you know what I—_Thorn broke off, anger and tension beginning to seep through their link. _Do you know what happened while you were up there? Chasing that _girl_? Galbatorix called me, he forced me to tell of Martaila and Neal. Damn, you think, but that's nothing! So I went over the woods and watched those godsdamned Twins mess everything up. And then after that—_

He broke off, unable to continue. Murtagh closed his eyes, Thorn's pain beginning to ignite the voices in his head once more. The two blended together, threatening to swamp his vision. _And then?_ he asked distantly, his hands gripping the edge of the bed for support.

_And then my Rider fainted because he's too fragile,_ came the acid reply. _Get a grip on yourself, would you? Pour some water over your head._

With shaking fingers, Murtagh pulled the pitcher of water closer. Some of the liquid spilled out, staining the finely woven carpets. He took a shaky breath, splashing some of the water over his face.

It had been nearly a week since he had awoken from his fever, but the voices were still very difficult to control. Galbatorix had only started training two days before, and the emperor was cheerfully unsympathetic to the constant nausea headaches, saying only that they would fade with time.

_Oh, stop moaning,_ Thorn said, breaking into his thoughts.

Murtagh exhaled slowly, working to keep his feelings under control. The voices surged when his emotions grew out of check, especially in anger or in pain. Carefully, he concentrated on breathing, tamping his feelings down.

It worked, the voices easing off. When Murtagh felt like he could breathe again, he said quietly, _Go on._

_And have you swoon again? No,_ Thorn said. There was an irritable sigh, and then the dragon added, _Go to sleep. You have training in the morning_.

Murtagh nodded slowly, pulling himself up. _We're going to continue this conversation another time,_ he said softly. _I want to know what happened._

_I can hardly wait,_ Thorn muttered. _You're such an intelligent little psychiatrist. _

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It seemed to be barely a minute later when Murtagh was shaken awake by a caroling Galbatorix. The emperor tore open the drapes, letting sunlight flood into the room. "Wake up, m'dear!" he boomed. "It's _morning!_"

Murtagh flinched as the bright sunlight hit his eyes, painfully drilling into his brain. Galbatorix's face peered at him, bright and maliciously cheerful in its elven beauty. "Why, little Rider, trouble?"

Murtagh forced himself to sit up, eyes squinting against the brilliant morning light. His fingers groped along the edge of the bed as he struggled to collect his thoughts together. "What…" he managed, fumbling.

A wad of cloth smacked him in the face. "Get dressed," that inhumanly jovial voice suggested. "I'll meet you downstairs."

Murtagh's eyes opened a tiny slit further as the door to his apartments slammed shut. With a groan, he untangled the shirt and held it between the sun and him.

Great. Another day.

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_End of Chapter Thirty-Eight_

The plot bunnies have attacked. –screams- I have managed to neglect the long-awaited scrying scene in this chapter…so…guess what! Another chapter for you.

Gah, I hate myself! This completely sucks. I want to get this fic over with, but somehow I manage to keep on tacking chapter after CHAPTER! This is SO ANNOYING!

Well, there's good news…no wait there is no good news. Never mind. Life sucks. I'm going to go kill myself now.

-stabs self and dies-

Anyway, I may be able to finish the chapter for tomorrow, BUT—the site says that they'll be down for maintenance Sunday. So, blech, there goes an extra week down the drain because I'm strictly forbidden to use the net on schooldays.

**Jatterquist**: I did type up a more concise version of the hatching in the original chapter three, but I ditched it because there were several major mistakes in it.

**Fallonaiya Sedai**: No, there's ONE MORE CHAPTER BEFORE THE BURNING PLAINS! I need a life. I need to stop making up new chapters cuz I'm going to go craaaaazzzzzzzy!

**Ariel32**: No, Thorn didn't know. Thorn went through something while Murtagh busy chasing Salem during _4/3/101_, and I'm not too sure if I'll ever be able to describe it in detail. But yes, Thorn went through something else. :)

**K.A.T. Hiwatari**: Mean anything? Nah. I just picked out a couple ancienty-languagey words and decided to piece them all together. I mean, Murtagh's ancient name stands for _him_, so I suppose you could translate his ancient name as meaning 'Murtagh'. Does that make sense?

Aaah, steak. Actually, I'm more in a chocolately mood. MMM! Godiva chocolate!

**Rotem**: Thankees :)

**Its.Garnet.Time**: Yeah, well, I have a gift for insanity. It runs in the family, you know; my sister can write these horribly depressing stories that make you want to cry. Or maybe it's just because I'm a soppy tenderheart that weeps when the hero dies or whatever. Anyway.

I'm being insanely random today…

**Kana410**: No idea what in the world I'm going to do after this fic. I think I'll move on to update some of my other neglected fics, but otherwise I don't know. I mean, I would like to do another Inheritance fic, but I don't have any plotlines! I'm actually quite uncreative and have the imagination of a torpid slug.

**Aurora**: I thought Jay Chou wasn't releasing any more albums! And aren't he and Jolin dating? I thought they were; why would she be releasing a competitive album?

And yes, Galbatorix did something quite different to Thorn. The way these last few chapters are going, I think you'll never know exactly what; you'll just know that it was something life-altering and stereotypically tragic. I **might** (place due emphasis on might) be able to squeeze it into chappie 39, but don't count on it.

**Dreamgirlhoo**: Are your commas misplaced? Well, thanks anyway…

**Gewher**: Ack, it's probably Arya or else a third brother that has been spirited from the ruins. Or sister. Seriously, at least ONE of the Riders has better be a girl! I mean, Paolini's pretty good at keeping roles non-chauvinistic, but there should be at least one female Rider...

Connac's not dead? –looks at Connac quizzically- Oh yeah! He's not. Well, not if _I _have anything to say about it…-cackles evilly-

**Coffee Grounds**: NOO! HE'S MINE! MINE, DO YOU HEAR, MINE!

-clings to Murtagh- I'm so mean. I torture all my favorite characters and beat them up and make them do gods-know-what and to WHAT END?

Oh yeah…the plot. –sigh-

**Alsdssg**: Agh! I wanted to show some of the effects of the VoS in this chapter, but was unable to squeeze it in. –stabs plot bunny- I hate it when I go around adding chapters like that! The end is so close, and yet so far!

**Mistress-of-Misery**: Yeah, the Shattered Mirror fic was SUPPOSED to be oneshot, but lots of miraculous things can happen when you're bored. Bush can go to war with Iraq, people can go around killing each other, and a new chapter can be added to what was supposed to be one-shot. –shrugs- One of the unexplained miracles of this world.

Salem's going to be stuck in the VoS as long as Murtagh lives. Which sucks, basically, but I have no conscience when it comes to torturing plot characters. Oh, wait, I do. Well, it can't stop me.

**Amantine**: Well wait, Eragon's reaction was already written in the first book, remember? Near the gates of the Varden, Murtagh breaks out all anguished-like that he's Morzan's son, and Eragon freaks out. It's already been said and done; I just popped it in there.

**Smiley Smackdown**: Who doesn't?


	40. Chapter 39

**OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG ZOGRFL! I LURRRRRRRVEE SUGAR RUSHES!**

**Muses: Shut the crap up! You have a serious chapter to write!**

**Me: -giggles and bounces- BUT I DON'T WAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNAAAAA!**

**Muses: -sigh- Now you know why we run away so often…**

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_9/6/101_

Dinner.

Murtagh looked unenthusiastically at the lavish meal before them, unease churning in a pit of his stomach. He was uncomfortably aware of Galbatorix's eyes fixed upon him, bright and focused. The emperor had invited him to dinner for a purpose. He kept his eyes down, staring at a piece of roast duck as he waited for Galbatorix to speak.

"So, Murtagh."

The words were calm and quietly spoken. Murtagh glanced up slightly to see Galbatorix smiling at him, a smile that spoke of years of wisdom and kindness. "Don't be afraid," the emperor urged softly.

Murtagh exhaled slowly and returned to focusing on the duck. He forced himself not to flinch as Galbatorix's hand touched his shoulder. "Yes?" he said finally, trying unsuccessfully to keep his voice steady.

"How long has it been?" the emperor inquired. "How many months has it been since you first came to me?"

Murtagh's mind raced back frantically, flicking over the past few months. Finally, he said, "Nine. More or less."

"Nine." Galbatorix sighed, sitting delicately back into his chair. "Nine months. Have they been productive?"

A pause, then Murtagh nodded jerkily.

"I see." Galbatorix considered his thoughts for a long while, turning a knife over and over in his long fingers. "Are you ready, then, to serve me?"

Murtagh's breath caught in his throat, and he began to cough as he choked on his own spit. Hacking, he reached for the glass of water near him. Galbatorix watched him, dark eyes glinting. When Murtagh finally got control of himself again, Galbatorix asked quietly, "Well?"

Swallowing hard, Murtagh managed to croak out, "What?"

Galbatorix sighed, standing up. "You are aware of changes in the city?"

Murtagh nodded. Who didn't? Even in his secluded existence in the palace, Murtagh had heard the rumors. The number of soldiers recruited every day was increasing, and the main bulk of the army had been posted to Surda, but more companies were going every day… "Oh," he said slowly, feeling rather thick for not realizing it before. "The Varden."

Those two words brought a leaden weight to settle in his stomach. The Varden.

_Eragon_.

"Yes," Galbatorix said softly, confirming his thoughts. "We are going to confront the Varden…and hopefully, destroy them once and for all."

He stepped forward, touching Murtagh's hand lightly. "You, my Rider, will be there." He bent closer, eyes glinting with the powerful fervor that was both alluring and frightening. "Listen to me. _This is what you must do_." His words were laced with the subtle timbre of power, bringing in Murtagh's ancient name. Murtagh closed his eyes, feeling his blood hum with the summons as it heeded.

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_You should start packing. _Thorn's voice was mild as he settled down on the roof, claws clicking lightly on the tile. _Even with flying, it'll take a day to get to Surda_.

Murtagh grunted, flopping onto the bed. He stared up at the ceiling, glaring a hole into the marble. _I hate this_.

_Look, sonny, don't we all?_ Thorn said, a touch of sarcasm lacing his voice. _You think I'm in this hellpit for kicks? _

_Of course,_ Murtagh snapped, in no mood to be accommodating.

Thorn sighed. _Look, if you do manage to bring them back, at least we'll have some company. That can't be too bad, can it? I'd finally be able to meet another halfway sane dragon, which would be somewhat of a relief, even if we did have to do…that thing. But hey, every cloud has a silver lining…_

_What if I don't want to? _Murtagh muttered rebelliously. _What if…_

_What if. That's exactly it, 'what if'! Get a grip on yourself. Look, we're going to ad-lib the whole stupid thing anyway. Play it by ear. Don't go around agonizing about big fat complicated plans to turn the tide of events your way or his way or thattaway. If we're bringing Eragon back, so be it. You know there's nothing you can do to stop it, anyway._

Murtagh grunted. _What about Hrothgar?_

Thorn grimaced. _He's a rebel leader. He's bound to die at one point or another. Besides, doesn't he hamper that 'great Alagaesian dream' Galbatorix keeps yattering on about?_

_He…he doesn't deserve to die,_ Murtagh said slowly with a sigh. _Damn. I hate this._

_Brilliant statement, that is. 'I hate this'. Speaks of untold years of wisdom on your part_.

Murtagh muttered something under his breath and sighed again, rolling over to stare blankly at the wall. Nine months in captivity, five in training. Had it really been that long? In retrospect…

His life had fallen into a pattern, a pattern that he took empty comfort in. Training, mostly, with Galbatorix. Some swordplay with varying soldiers, and more training with Thorn and Shruikan. He didn't care to remember his lessons—especially the ones with Galbatorix—but they filled his life and kept him from falling into the abyss of madness.

Thorn and he had reached an unspoken pact. Hate, especially the righteous hatred of anger, only kept you going oh-so-long. Thorn seemed to have resigned himself to life under Shruikan's tutelage, keeping his more bitter emotions to himself. Murtagh, for his part, didn't share his confused thoughts on Galbatorix with his dragon. It was a strange compromise, but it worked well in avoiding arguments and anger.

And Galbatorix…

Fear and respect. Murtagh weighed the two words in his mind, trying to extract some hidden meaning. Often those two terms were vastly different, but in his case, well, his convictions could only be described as a strange mixture of both. He was afraid of the emperor, a deep-seated fear that would always be there. But somehow…Murtagh _respected_ him.

_A nest of contradictions._

_Mmm?_ came the lazy reply.

Murtagh shook his head, realizing too late that he'd spoken out loud. _Nothing_.

Thorn said nothing; there was a faint scrabble of claws on the roof above. Finally, the dragon said, _Do you miss him_?

_Him?_ Murtagh asked, frowning. _Who?_

_Eragon. Saphira. The whole lot of them._

Murtagh hesitated, debating whether to lie before admitting that the truth would be much easier. _Yes_.

When Thorn made no reply, Murtagh continued slowly. _I mean…it's been so long. At first, I…I kept on thinking how best to escape. When I first came to Uru'baen. I swore that I would never fall again to Galbatorix, never be committed to his cause. And now…now I don't know. I just wonder…_

_As you wander out under the sky?_ Thorn said wryly.

_What?_ Murtagh asked distractedly.

_Nothing,_ Thorn said. _That song's a child's lullaby, and completely irrelevant to the topic at hand. Go on_.

He had lost track of what he was talking about when Thorn interrupted him, and now foundered. _I...I don't know. I suppose I…I haven't seen Eragon for so long. He'll be at the Burning Plains too, I'll bet anything on it. And to see that…_

_Why don't you scry him?_ Thorn suggested. _Less of a shock, anyways._ _I mean, you'll have time to get used to his appearance; he's probably more elf-looking now anyways from his jaunt inside Ellesmera. You can moon over him day and night if you like_.

The idea was startling in a way it shouldn't have been. _Scry…?_ Murtagh considered slowly. He remembered vaguely that Galbatorix had once said that he couldn't scry Eragon. If Galbatorix couldn't, then who could say he would do any better?

_Stop nitpicking before you even start,_ Thorn advised. _You won't know until you try_.

Thorn was right. Murtagh grimaced as a waft of smugness came down their mental connection. _Don't even say it,_ he warned.

_I wasn't going to say a thing,_ Thorn said haughtily.

_Right,_ Murtagh drawled. _Well, snotty dragons aside, I suppose I better get started…_

Looking around, Murtagh's eye fell on the flagon of ale on his bedside table. Taking it, he opened the balcony doors and poured the brown liquid onto the marble. It came out sluggishly, little black flecks gushing out with it. Looking at it, Murtagh promised himself never to drink palace ale again.

Shaking his head, he stared into the liquid and reached for the magic.

The Vault of Souls. Insanity, commotion, _Salem_. He had gained the first two and lost the third; it was a painful trade to make. Sometimes, it wasn't worth it—in order to control the voices and to hold the emptiness within him, severe restrictions had to be held over his feelings and emotions. The result of this training and practice alarmed him—in exchange for control, Murtagh couldn't allow himself to _feel_ at times. No sorrow, no pain, no anger.

He sighed and stirred the ale idly with a finger. In return, though…

He closed his eyes with the familiar thrill as the magic flowed through him. It came from a wellspring in his mind, a well that connected with the infinite power stored within the Vault of Souls. The power thrashed within him, pulsing in his blood, searching for a way out. It _wanted_ to be used.

_To have such power,_ he thought, half-giddy, _is it worth the price?_

The voices surged inside his head; Murtagh did nothing to hold them back. Feeling almost as if he were in a dream, he fed the power into two words: _Draumr kopa_.

The surface of the ale twisted sharply with a maelstrom of color and turned a cloudy silver color. Murtagh held his breath, waiting for the surface to clear—but then, to his shock, it turned muddy brown again.

_What the—_

_What? Didn't it work?_ Thorn said sharply.

_No,_ Murtagh said. He sat back, feeling discouraged. _I don't understand. It's _draumr kopa, _right?_

_Yeah…why don't you try again? Maybe it was just a fluke_.

_I don't think so. Eragon's protected, I think—it only makes sense. I mean, he's under Islanzadi's tutelage now. She would be sure to ward him_.

Thorn was silent for a minute. When he spoke again, his voice was uncharacteristically soft. _You'll see him again, soon. Don't fuss so much over images_.

_I'm not fussing,_ Murtagh growled, hating himself for being so transparent, gritting his teeth as the voices rose in parallel to his emotions. _Stop hovering over me._

_Literally or metaphorically?_ The dragon's voice was wry. _Look. Don't worry about it, all right? When you finally meet again, it may not be the happiest of circumstances, but it's what Fate allows. Nobody can control the roll of the dice, all right? Don't agonize over it_.

Murtagh exhaled, staring fixedly at the railing of marble. His disappointment cut far deeper than it should have, really—after all, Islanzadi was only expected to have warded him. He should have expected this.

With practiced control, he forced down his frustration, letting a sense of calm detatchment flow through him. Inside his mind, the clamoring voices surged one last time, and then faded to a soft murmur. _All right,_ he said finally, his own voice distant and indifferent. _I won't_.

Thorn said nothing. A heavy silence descended over them, darkening with the night.

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_End of Chapter Thirty-Nine_

Does this clarify things up about the whole Murtagh bitterness issue? I mean, he keeps himself distant most of the time. Can't let his emotions get out of control, no matter how conflicted he is. That's sorta the impression I wanted to give here.

The date of the Burning Plains will be _9/11/101, _btw. Want to make it symbolic even if I can't update on that actual date.

I'm going to surround my room with barbed wire from now on, because GUESS WHAT! **THE ATTACK OF THE PLOT BUNNIES!** What does that mean**? ANOTHER FRICKIN' CHAPTER BECAUSE THE AUTHOR WANTS TO KILL CONNAC OFF!**

Wait? What?

-whistles innocently and strolls away-

**Jatterquist**: I'm dead lazy, haven't you picked up on that yet? A bonding scene _would_ be great, though…if I had the motivation and inclination, I might expand on that idea. It would add to the relationship and all.

-stares at computer glumly- But with the plot bunnies hitting on me all the time, it's all I can do to keep on tappin' out the chapters…

**Silver pup**: OH. MY. GOD. July? Wow. ALL YEAR SCHOOL? That sucks to the pits of hell! It's all I can do to slave through 5-day weeks now, much less all year. Yeah, more vacations, but they're all so SHORT!

I bet Paolini is going to kill Murtagh off. Wahaah! If he does that, I'm going to sit down and sob my worthless little eyes out. Gah, I have no life.

**Ariel32**: -evil cackle- Hello? Connac is at _my_ mercy, not Galbatorix's. I'm going to kill him off no matter what, you just wait. It'll be an interesting end; also, a chapter from Connac's POV will help me enlarge on what Galbatorix's army did while Eragon was busy beating up Du Vangr Gata and chasing Elva.

I never abuse my characters. Beat them up? Kill them? Oh yes. Abuse? Never.

**Mrs Pierre Bouvier**: Yech, don't you just HATE it when technology fails? Many a time I have been reduced to kicking the computer when the next chapter didn't load properly.

NOOO! SUMMER! –sobs and clings to July and August- WHY ARE YOU LEAVING ME! WHY! COME BACK!

**Gewher**: I tend to reuse lines and crap, and because I'm lame I'll say this one more time…the title of the fanfic is Thorn and** Misery**!

Depression galore. I'm a pessimist by nature and sugar rushes only make it worse, plus ever since I found my muses again they're been very depressed as well, adding to the complete despair factor. So yes, sadness all around. Glad to see you've joined us! Don't want to be the odd one out, now do you? O.o

**Rotem**: Gah, once a week, what more do you want from me! –breaks down and sobs-

**Coffee Grounds**: Good idea! I should start locking up my muses from now on; maybe they'd actually be USEFUL FOR A CHANGE –glares pointedly at muses- How big a cage do you need for muses?

The French Roast! –squeaks- ISN'T THAT THING DEAD! YOU SAID IT WAS! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Well, I'm buying barbed wire this weekend for the plot bunnies anyway. I'll get a coffee grinder while I'm at it for extra protection. And a cage for the muses. Anything else?

**Emerald Tiara**: I find a special sadistic pleasure in making Galbatorix cheerfully evil. It seems more convincing than to make Galbatorix all passionate all the time anyway; happiness can be _very _disconcerting when you have too much of it.

**Mistress-of-Misery**: Yeah, soon as Murtagh kicks the bucket, Salem will too. _When_ever that is.

Two chapters of miserableness, actually. The one where Connac dies (inevitably) and the one where…um…Murtagh kicks Eragon ass, and then the one where sugar rots my brain and teeth and churns out a complete random chapter. –nods convincingly- The last one won't be miserable…sugar can only be so pessimistic…

**Fallonaiya Sedai**: SCHOOL. SUCKS. EGGS. Dear god, I will simply fall down and die. Honestly, I find myself counting the minutes that every single bloody period drags ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND—

-is cut off for being insanely irrelevant-

It makes me kinda sad to see how Thorn and Murtagh have changed. They've become so cold! Waah!

**Tallacus**: Well, nyah, now they do. –sticks out tongue- Besides, I wanted to make Thorn emphatic, and 'dung-grubbing sockmucker' doesn't quite give the same impression as the more commonplace swearwords.

I find that Paolini didn't do a very good job with the parts containing Murtagh. I mean, when Murtagh is first captured…I have a tendency to skim when I first read, so I skipped on and it wasn't until I got until when Eragon tried to scry Murtagh that I'm WTF! Where did Murtagh go! I mean, that was just way too short and undescriptive.

**Alsdssg**: Oh yes. But you know, since Galbatorix is a _powerful_ bottom sucking shit-feeder, there's basically nothing he can do about it. How sad. –wipes away tear for effect-

**Amantine**: It kind of depends on what you mean by 'himself', I suppose. Brilliantly sarcastic? Yeah, you got that. But he's also much more cynical, or at least he's supposed to be…

**Aurora**: Fear not! You mourn far too soon. Honestly, I'm popping in new chapters every single week, so I don't anticipate this story ending for…two weeks, maybe? Which effectively means two chapters, but god knows how many times I'll keep on delaying the BP chap. –sigh-

**K.A.T Hiwatari**: -slavers at mouth- Well, this chapter is maybe…what, four or five pages long? That counts, right? Say it does. GIVE ME THE FRICKIN CHOCOLATE!

I don't think my interpretation of the book really fits your ideas, though. What I'm saying is that Murtagh…he's…I don't know, _confused_. He has to keep himself an emotionless rock most of the time, and can't really lay out his thoughts about Galbatorix…hrm…

**YAY! REVIEW!**


	41. Chapter 40

**I don't know how you order stuff in the REAL army, but hey whateva goes in MAH story goes, k'? At least for the duration of this fic…**

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_9/10/101_

"Scared?"

Connac looked up from his gloomy contemplations to see the dark visage of Mikael Kretz standing before him. He made a face. "No."

"That's my lad," Mikael said, patting him on the back. "The cries of battle draw near, but the sons of Fate yet stand stalwart…"

"Reading poetry again?" Connac murmured, toying with a shard of wood.

"Of course," Mikael said cheerfully. "Nothing like a good spout of Pierce to get you revved up for battle."

"Uh-huh." Connac sighed, setting down the wood with unnecessary force. "What is it, Mikael?"

"Oh, nothing," Mikael said lazily. "It's just that you've managed to miss the battle assignments meeting that General Kimiko _insisted_ all the captains attend, all four hundred of us." He grinned, seeing the sudden look of slow shock spread over Connac's face. "Yes, you forgot, didn't you? Well, we managed to plow on without you. I'm to give you this." He shoved a roll of paper across the table.

Connac didn't move to take it, staring at Mikael. "The meeting?" he echoed, his voice slightly high-pitched. "Kimiko?"

Mikael laughed. "Don't worry! You weren't the only one, actually—I think Rosterham and Draymore missed it, too, at least as far as I can tell. Kimiko just shook his head in a sad, pathetic way and handed out the rosters. You, my friend, will be in the very forefront of battle, whenever that may be." He unrolled the paper, shaking his head at Connac's confusion. "I think Kimiko must harbor some sort of grudge against you, because that is one shitty posting."

Connac blinked. "I—I've never talked to Kimiko, not up close."

Mikael eyed him with interest. "Oh. Wait, did you grow up on tales of his mighty raid exploits, too?"

Connac nodded. When he had first joined the army, Kimiko was a rising star, lieutenant major already at the young age of twenty-nine. He was quick, clever, and debonair, the stuff of hero legends. When Connac (and a passel of other young men) had joined the army, the name of Jeran Kimiko had been whispered with something nearing worship. And now—now Connac had passed up the chance to talk to the man, gotten one of the most terrible possible postings, and even worse, the general had a bad mark about him already.

Great. Connac grimaced, rubbing his forehead slowly. Mikael shook his head in pity for his friend. "Ach, don't worry about it. Believe me, Kimiko's not all he's cocked up to be. I did a little jaunt under his command a little while back, and that assignment was hell and a half. Bastard doesn't know the meaning of _caution_. Anyway, I'm getting off topic." He stopped at this point, eyeing Connac with some concern. "You look like you're going to faint. Come on."

Tugging at Connac's shirt, Mikael urged his fellow captain up and out of the tent.

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The air outside was no better, reeking with sulphurous fumes. "The envoy?" Connac said, panting to overcome the gag reflex. "What's the Varden's response?"

"No idea," Mikael said absently, staring out over the Burning Plains. "You'd think it wouldn't take that long to come to a decision. I mean, why don't they just say _we're not surrendering_ and get it over with? They're not going to just lie down and beg for us to take them."

"Maybe Rory got lost," Connac guessed. "Or got eaten by fire."

Mikael snorted dryly. "He would. If that's the case, then we'll go and sack them anyway, surrender or not."

Connac grimaced, then stiffened as a figure approached them out of the corner of his eye. He turned partially to meet the newcomer.

It was one of the many nameless new conscripts, looking very young and frightened in his issued gear. "Captains..." he trailed off, darting fearful glances at them as he tried to figure out what their last names were. Evidently giving up, he added, "Sirs, you're wanted in the…the general, he's over there…" With a shaking finger, he pointed at a crowd that was already gathering.

He stammered into silence, staring at them with huge eyes. Connac and Mikael exchanged wry glances, and then Connac asked quietly, "What's your name, soldier?"

The man—really, a boy—bit his lip. "Derek Smithers, sir," he muttered.

"Derek Smithers." Connac repeated the name and sighed. Four syllables that only scratched the surface of a person. By the time this battle ended, those sounds would most likely be gone, fragmented, the person who defined them dead.

"Copper for your thoughts?" Mikael prodded lightly, pushing him forward.

Connac jerked out of his reverie, smiling wearily at his friend. "My thoughts are a crown apiece, sorry. But I was just thinking…" He waved a hand around. "How many people will die between now and battle's end?"

"Quite a lot," Mikael said, shaking his head. "You agonize about the future too much, Connac. Take things step by step, all right? For now, we're all alive. We might not be alive two days from now, but why worry about that? After all, a man's fate is to die and there's nothing you can do about it." There was a crowd of men gathering ahead, and Mikael pulled Connac forward to their assigned places. "And yes, I'm a pessimist," he added.

"I didn't say anything," Connac protested, stepping into his place into the ranks.

"You were thinking it. Like it or not, you've got quite an open face." Mikael looked up and sighed, falling silent as Kimiko stepped forward.

Of the hundred thousand or so men that the Empire had mustered, only about two-forths of these men were professionally trained. The others were mostly conscripts, farm or city boys dragged up and pressed into service. The majority of them had most likely never held a sword in their lives, but there was little they could do about that now.

In the forty-thousand professionals, every hundred men were placed into a company under the command of a captain. A lieutenant major headed five captains, a major two lieutenant majors. A commander handled five majors, and General Kimiko headed the eight commanders.

In this chain of command, a full-captain meeting would be very rare, considering that there were about four hundred of them here. Kimiko seemed to notice this, his lined forehead creasing into a frown. "_Captains, attention!_" he roared, his voice rising over the masses.

They waited in expectant silence, every eye following the old general's every move. Kimiko shot a baleful glare over the ranks before grating out, _"_We have the Varden's reply!_"_

Silence. Steam was almost rising out of Kimiko's ears as he turned, barking something indistinguishable at two men behind him. They stepped forward smoothly, carrying a third man between them. The man's hands were bound behind him, a gag shoved between his teeth. He thrashed in his captors' hands, yelling muffled words that nobody could make out. Kimiko, his face red with fury, belted the man across the face.

The general turned back to the captains, his voice carrying clearly over them. _"They refuse to surrender_."

With a sudden violence, he whirled around and slashed the man with a knife, hacking viciously across his throat. There was a horrible silence, punctuated only by the envoy's dying gurgles. He fell to the ground, dead.

"_And this is how we treat traitors!_" Kimiko roared. _"Every one of them will die for daring to defy the Empire!_"

Pause. Then—

A single cheer rose, and then suddenly the men were cheering, roaring their exhilaration and triumph of even this small victory. Hidden within the blanket of sound, Connac glimpsed the messenger's body being dragged away. Kimiko muttered something to the men carrying him before turning back to the ground. His ice blue eyes blazed with a rigid fervor, and he raised a hand for silence.

It fell, an eager hush as they waited for him to speak. Kimiko said nothing for a while, eyes raking the assembled captains. When he finally spoke, it was in a calm voice, carrying nothing of the furious passion that had lit it up only moments before.

"The Varden have made their answer clear," he said, pacing up and down the ranks. "So now it is our turn to reply. We will destroy them. We will teach them to obey, teach them to _submit to the empire!_ And you, all of you, captains of the Emperor's men, will do your duty." He stopped, a slightly manic smile playing about his lips. "Tomorrow. We will kill them."

Kimiko's fingers clenched into fists. Still carrying that strange smile, he stepped away from the captains. "At ease!" he cried. "Disperse!"

The ranks loosened, then separated. Through the movement of shifting bodies, Connac could see the glitter of a sword as they beheaded the messenger, tossing his head into a bag for the Varden.

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He retreated to the tent he shared with Mikael, a little shaken. Mikael joined him there, dark eyes glinting as he shook out their bedrolls. "You okay, Blackfire?" he asked, shaking his head.

Connac shrugged, standing to help him. As he aired out their blankets, Connac said in a low voice, "I didn't expect that."

Mikael gave him a pitying glance. "Listen. Kimiko—he's very loyal, very passionate, all right? Our emperor wouldn't put just _anybody_ in charge of his entire army. Everything with the general has to be perfect, more perfect than perfect, and all in the emperor's name. I half-expected him to kill the envoy from the start; he's just that kind of man."

Laying out a blanket, Connac said quietly, "It's disturbing."

Mikael patted him sympathetically on the back. "Don't fuss over it. Kimiko's a regular saint compared to the two nutheads they have in charge of the magickers. Look, start a fire, I'll go nip some food off the quartermasters for us. Which would you prefer—stale bread, stale jerky, watery gruel, or hardtack?"

On that cheery note, Kretz strolled out of the tent. Connac watched him go, shaking his head as he groped for the packet of matches in his bag.

He had managed to get a good blaze going (which was saying something, considering his abysmal skills with fire) when Mikael finally returned, a slight sheen of sweat on his dark skin. Connac looked up at him, shaking his head. "What in gods' name took you so long?" he demanded.

Mikael shook his head, sitting down heavily by the fire. "Thought I saw somebody pinching supplies off the back wagons," the captain explained, wiping away his sweat impatiently. "Went to investigate, but all I found was a weedy blond conscript skulking around looking hungry. I could've sworn it was a dark-haired boy, though, but the fumes here might just be giving me hallucinations." Mikael grimaced good-naturedly. "And then that old toad of a quartermaster started giving me hell and a half for going into his sacred territory without his express permission. You will not believe what crap I had to go through to get the rest of our fodder."

"Wait, was the quatermaster Aberon?" Connac said, shaking his head in amusement.

"Yeah. What's that old man doing on the battlefield, anyway? He wouldn't last two seconds in any battle."

"Neither would the conscripts, you have to admit. But they add bulk and make us look more impressive. Hand me that, will you?" Connac gestured, prying the wrapped package from Mikael's hands. Unrolling the packet, he pulled a face at its contents. "Dried jerky, stale bread…is this water?" He uncorked in gingerly, taking a whiff and pulling back. "Barracks ale. At least a week old, I'd think."

"Well, that's what the men are getting, so I figured we might as well suffer with them," Mikael said with disconcerting cheerfulness. "I _would_ walk over to the officer supply wagons and get the better provisions the captains have, but I decided that we shall make no distinction between our fare and the conscripts'." He grinned at Connac's wry expression. "Oh, all right, I'm lazy, too. But it's too far."

Connac shook his head in mock despair. Mikael laughed in reply.

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Night descended, bringing a soft hush of nippy chill with it. The two men edged closer to the fire, one of many upon the Burning Plains. The food was as bad as expected, with a faintly acrid smell of old metal, but it was filling.

"Mikael?"

"Hrm?" Mikael didn't look up from the fire; he was busy feeding more wood to the flames. "What is it?"

Connac watched him, feeling a dull pit of melancholy blossom in his stomach as he thought of the battle ahead. Idly, he said, "Do you have any…friends? Relatives? Family?"

Mikael tipped his head back, staring up at the stars as he considered. "My folks are still alive, as are my three sisters. I've got the army and a few drinking-bar friends outside, but most of them are here on the Plains, too. Why do you ask?"

Connac sighed, leaning forward to stir the fire. "What'll happen to them after you're gone?" he said quietly. "When all of us are gone?"

Mikael gave him a sidelong glance. "You're too bleak, Connac. We might not die. Granted, it's a slim chance, but we may just survive."

"But what if?" Connac persisted.

Mikael shrugged. "I suppose they'll cry a bit. Dedicate whatever's left of me to Arkita and her baying hounds of war. Who knows? Look, Connac, you shouldn't think about this kind of stuff right before a battle; you'll only drive yourself insane."

"I just…" Connac paused, then sighed. Aside from Beltane, the only other member of his family left was Salem. Who knew where she was? Was she happy, or sad, or dead?

Mikael patted his shoulder lightly and stood up. "I'm going to catch some sleep, Connac," he said. "You should do the same."

Opening the flap of the tent, he disappeared inside. Connac stayed outside for a little while longer, watching as fires all around him were smothered as the men prepared for bed. The only lights left were the dim lanterns of the sentries as they patrolled the army's border.

He shook his head, trying to clear it of depressing thoughts. Kicking dirt over the fire, he headed inside.

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_The carrion crows drifted, calling out their harsh cries. Connac could taste blood and sweat in his mouth as he stood on the Plains, sword in hand._

"_Captain!" a voice cried out. Connac turned partially, waiting for the soldier's report. "Sir," the sergeant panted out, "the dragon—the Rider, he's cutting through the eastern edge—"_

_He gasped slightly and fell, collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut. Connac bent over him, knowing that it was useless already. It had happened so many times—inexplicably, without any sign or notice, companies of men died within seconds._

_Connac sighed and turned away, staring at the streak of red on his sword. How many had died now? How many would yet die?_

_He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around. Dark blood streaked down the figure before him, the eyes haunted, the skin corpse-white. Connac jerked back in surprise and revulsion, seeing this ghost before him. "What do you want?" he snapped, more angry than scared._

_The figure took a halting step forward, moaning softly, a sound filled with lost pain. Connac backed up, eyes fixed on the corpse, warily keeping his sword out. "Who are you?" he asked again, uncertainty in his voice._

_And then—_

_Pain struck, sharp and debilitating. Connac gasped, his head snapping up as violent fire streaked through his stomach. From behind, a cold hand encircled his neck, harsh breath in his ear. Looking down, Connac could faintly see the edges of a bloodied sword._

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Connac jerked upright, scattering his blankets everywhere. Inhaling too quickly, he choked, then gasped for breath as he fought to stifle a half-formed scream. _Gods,_ he breathed, shock flooding his veins. _What kind of—_

He doubled over with a sharp cry, clutching the fabric of his blanket. A vicious jolt slammed through his stomach, spreading upwards in a sheet of white flame. Gasping, fighting for control, Connac retched onto the ground.

"Connac!"

He could see Mikael's face before him, wavering disorientedly in a gray haze. The mouth was moving; Mikael was saying something, but whatever he said was lost in the roaring in Connac's ears. His fingers tightened, and he screamed as another wave of pain struck.

Hands were carrying him, bringing him outside where the scent of sulfur and phosphorus was overpowering, a foul mist hovering in the air. Voices. There was screaming, shouting, wailing—all of it adding to an overwhelming cry that spoke of panic and frenzy.

And through all of it, Connac could only hear one word, repeated endlessly again and again. It drilled into his mind, scattering every last inch of resolve he had.

_Poison…_

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_End of Chapter Forty_

It's like 11:15 at night here and I'm seeing double images. –yawns and sighs- I should really leave review responses till tomorrow…jeez, I'm talking to myself…

But I do have cause to celebrate! Yay, the **BP chapter is next! Finally! **–cheers- After that, I can finally get some sleep on the weekends instead of slaving to write up new chapters…

Review responses, no?

**NoEqual**: Thank you. I feel quite flattered now.

**Ariel32**: Yay! You still reviewed despite technological problems. Kudos!

Yes, I'm a pessimist. Is it THAT obvious? –cackles evilly- Did you like Connac's demise? BWAHAHHAAA!

**Alsdssg**: Ooh, the BP chapter will be fun. I mean, I'll take the dialogue and crap directly from _Eldest_, but it'll be a great opportunity to show what I REALLY think was dancing through Murtagh's head on the Plains.

**K.A.T. Hiwatari**: Yeah, I figured that SOMEBODY had to die because of Angela's poisoning and all. At first, (meaning the first draft of this chapter) it was Mikael, but then the chapter started winding on and ON, much longer than it needed to. So here's the final result, and I'm happy.

**Mrs Pierre Bouvier**: Me too! –sobs- It'll be a day of both weeping and relief when I finally post that last chapter. I mean, okay, this fic really has taken up too much of my worthless life, but I'M GONNA MISS THEM! The ones that aren't dead, anyway…

Wait, they're all dead. What am I talking about?

**Tallacus**: Wow, a sex change before you're even born? That's gotta be nasty. Don't think Galbatorix will try it, though, because what would happen then? Galbatorix will hatch the third egg, Thorn and green dragon will have tons of babies, and EVIL DICTATORISM WILL RULE THE WORLD!

And then Paolini would have nothing to do. And we wouldn't want that, would we? So, no.

**Aurora**: A concert by Jolin! Ooh, I would DEFINITELY go with you! Only, I don't live in Sydney or anything like that…damn. Good luck finding someone to go with you. I'm so jealous!

Connac join the Varden? Crap no! He's loyal to Galby, strangely enough…

**Silver sliver**: LOTS OF TEACHERS GIVE HOMEWORK ON THE FIRST DAY. My teachers are EVIL! EVIL EVIL EVIL! –screams- Especially my goddamn math teacher. I HATE HIS GUTS! GAH!

Happy endings? Well, they're okay most of the time, but purely happy endings do tend to make me sick. There should be some ambivalence in an ending—mostly happiness, but half-cliffies are a must.

**Mistress-of-Misery**: Well, the barbed wire appears to have worked. No more plot bunnydom! Yay! –stabs bunny and giggles-

Nah, I attribute my tragedy-writing to WAY TOO MANY HOURS of reading stories where there's way too much death and gore for your own good. That and CSI. Wh00t! Go CSI!

**Lyokolady**: I guess we'll have to wait when the third book comes out, no? Do you suppose CP reads fanfiction? I know most famous authors don't...or they say they don't, anyway. –shifty eyes-

**Emerald Tiara**: Haven't you found that hating is rather energy-draining? I mean, it takes time and energy to hold up a grudge, even if you're spectacularly evil like me…Thorn's gotten resigned, I suppose. And never forget that even if they ARE pissed at each other, they still are Rider and dragon. Deepest bond and all that.

Palace ale is made up of a top secret combination of top secret ingredients. Shh!

**Coffee Grounds**: I know! I mean, I do like _Eragon_ and _Eldest_, but there are just these holes in the books that I really hate. I keep on reading them and thinking, wow, you seriously need a rewrite! Maybe CP had writer's block when he wrote those sections, because they're horrible!

…or maybe he was being chased by killer French Roasts at the time…

**Fallonaiya Sedai**: Noo! How dare you call Connac greedy? –sniffles- Waahaaah! Anyway, THIS CHAPTER IS MY LAST DELAY! BP CHAPPIE, COMIN' RIGHT UP!

'Right up' here being a week or so, of course…

**Amantine**: -sobs- Once a week! ONCE A WEEK! WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT OF ME?


	42. Inheritance

**RR's are up here today just cuz I feel like it. Hah.**

**Rock Not War**: Another procrastinator! Glad to see you've joined our ranks :)

**Fallonaiya Sedai**: O.o Sugar rush? Sounds like it...glad you're tensed up. May I release your tension with this –cough- _vunderful_ chappie?

**Gewher**: -giggles- Yeah, that Pierce line is my tribute to the Awesomeness of Tamora Pierce. –bows down- I love her stuff!

-runs from pitchfork- Don't kill me! Come on, the frickin' genre of this thing is tragedy. Or it should be, anyway. So it's supposed to be depressing!

**Aurora**: I don't know. Connac…he's not really, what's the word, _obsessed _with his sister or anything. I mean, he hasn't seen her for years, she pops up, they spend a total of maybe thirty minutes in each other's company, and then Salem zips outta his life again. Connac's got bigger things to worry about, don't you think?

**Mrs Pierre Bouvier**: -blushes- Well, I account my wonderful success to my unyielding patience and iron will. –rereads sentence and cracks up- Ha! Actually, a nagging conscience would be more accurate.

**Tallacus**: Meh, when you're desperate you can't exactly be choosy, can you? Anyway, Galbatorix would still have to overcome that hurdle of finding the people the eggs would hatch for anyway.

**Coffee Grounds**: Hahaha, your skit made me crack up. CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES! LE GASP! MINE!

**Ariel32**: You know, from Galbatorix's army's point of view, I guess the Varden would be sighted as evil. It's all a matter of perspective, really…the envoy was an enemy. The enemy died. Hooray and whoopee. Wouldn't you be happy?

**Amantine**: This fic is done anyways :) I THINK –emphasis on think- I can post the last screwy random stuff chappie on Monday or something like that. We'll have to see.

**Emerald Tiara**: Nah, the poisoner was Angela. Mister Quartermaster guy, however, as he is based after my much-loved math teacher HACK COUGH **NOT!** would be a pretty nice candidate, though.

**Blindseer220**: Thanks! Hey, wait, did you just start reading this fic?

**Lyokolady: **For some mysterious reason I keep typing your penname as 'lykolady'. Is there a character out there named lyoko or something or is your penname just completely random? Curious, you see. –blink blink-

**Its.Garnet.Time**: Glad you think so. When I typed up this chappie some of my prejudice against Wussypants Eragon got sapped into this chapter. Yeah, I'm evil.

**Mistress-of-Misery**: In the end, we're all dead men! If you find yourself in the fields with the wind blowing on your face, do not be afraid! Because you are in Elysium, and _you're already dead!_

Yay _Gladiator! _Sorry, I'm going through this total _Gladiator_ obsession. AWESOME MOVIE! Whee! What fun :)

**K.A.T. Hiwatari: **The answers to your questions: Yes, maybe, you'll see, DEFINITELY YES, cuz CP wouldn't let them (meanie), NEVAR, and see previous answer :)

You really thought that? My, you're quite intuitive! –grins-

And no cookies? I'm sad. –starts to cry-

**Alsdssg**: 'Authoress'. –rolls word around in mouth- I like that! It makes me think of a full moon and Morgan le Fay for some reason. You know, magic and sparkly blue wands and crap like that.

Gah, you picked up on that? I should really stop sticking hints in before the BBS (big bad secret) is revealed. It ruins the suspense!

**DeerShifter**: It was either poison or die in battle, and I'm dead lazy so I wanted to write as little as possible. Poison's faster, nyah! XD

**Next post will be a random chapter (e.g. explainer, cutscenes, deleted crap, and so on). I'll post maybe tomorrow or Monday. Or next week. Who knows?**

**Forgive me if the beginning of the chapter is a bit lousy. I hate rushing.**

**Onward!**

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_Well, well, well, we're having fun here,_ Thorn said sardonically as he flapped over the battlefield.

_I suppose,_ Murtagh said absently, scanning the scattered array of men below. They looked like ants, all of them—scrabbling over each other, with pinpricks of red splashing forward every now and then. _Let's get this over with._

_It'll never be over with,_ Thorn said with a note of glee in his voice. _Now, which one do you suppose is Hrothgar? _He paused. _What kind of name is Hrothgar, anyway?_

Murtagh had to grin. _A name we wouldn't give to our own children_. He closed his eyes, reaching within himself for the wellspring of magic. It flowed into his left hand, pooling, vibrating with eagerness. _Use us,_ it seemed to whisper. _Through you, we can live again…_

_Then go!_ Murtagh snapped out his wrist, a savage movement. The magic shot out in a concentrated red beam, slamming the dwarf king squarely in the chest. Murtagh could feel the dwarven minds around the king flicker, then vanish into the void as their wards failed. Hrothgar fell to his knees, a look of surprise crossing his face as he died.

Murtagh exhaled and closed his fist, feeling mild regret. _Well, that's that_.

_Isn't it?_ Thorn said distractedly, scanning the field. _Eragon's got his hand on a horsie; wonder why? _The red dragon hovered in midair, red eyes fixed on the sapphire dragon below as a man jumped onto her back. _This is going to be fun,_ he said gleefully. _Nobody ever spars with me except Shruikan!_

_Don't get cocky—Thorn, what the hell are you doing—! _Murtagh yelled as Thorn launched himself forward, claws extended. From below, a cry came up as Saphira shouted insults at them, rage clear in her voice.

_Traitor!_ she cried. _Egg breaker, oath breaker, murderer!_

_Ouchie._

Murtagh felt his brother's mind pound at him, grinning as his touch slid off like oil. _You may be able to break into one, but you can't break them all, little brother_, he thought fiercely, and counterattacked. Eragon retreated rapidly enough, gibbering something that echoed faintly through the opened connection—_Underacoldandemptywinterskystoodaweesmallmanwithasilversword—_

_Has Eragon gone bonkers?_ Thorn wondered, eavesdropping. _Well, never mind. Okay, kids, here we goooooooo!_

The two dragons slammed together with a colossal bang, twisting, clawing, biting, snapping. The sound was hideous, vicious screeches sounding as Thorn's claws grated off Saphira's armor, and Saphira's claws off Thorn's flat scales. Murtagh tumbled crazily through the air, sometimes upside-down, sometimes sideways, and sometimes thrown so insanely that he barely knew which was way was up any more. _Good thing for all those lessons_, he said dizzily, gripping Thorn's reins tightly.

_Ha!_ Thorn snorted, twisting free. The two dragons hovered about fifty yards over the Burning Plains, preparing for a new attack. Saphira pulled her head back and let loose a huge, flaming pillar of fire. Murtagh flicked his hand carelessly, and the fire bifurcated, passing to their sides.

_Nice job_, Thorn said, and retaliated with his own blast of fire.

It was just as effective as Saphira's flames—it divided harmlessly, leaving Eragon and Saphira without so much as a scorch. Now both dragons climbed again, fighting for altitude. Thorn's head lashed forward, nipping Saphira on the tail; she yelped and darted back. She did a fast backward loop, appearing like magic behind Thorn. He grinned at her, pivoted to the left, and did a half-spiral over her before dodging out of the way of her tail.

Back and forth, back and forth. The two dragons fought with increasingly complicated acrobatics, and Murtagh let him have his fun. They would wear out soon enough, and Thorn could hold his own. _Just goes to show that we weren't completely idle, Eragon,_ he thought grimly at his brother. _Here's another demonstration—_

Lunging forward with his mind, he attacked.

Thorn dove, angling beneath Saphira. The sapphire dragon hesitated, then braked ever so slightly. At that moment, Eragon jumped off her, spiraling insanely, pulling out his sword.

_What is he doing!_ Thorn yelled, pulling sharply to the left. _Of all things—AHHHHHHHHHH!_

Blood dripped from a sudden wound on Thorn's leg, and both of them cried out in shared pain. _Get to the ground,_ Murtagh said, his mouth a grim line. _Get Saphira down. Playtime's over._

_Not yet,_ Thorn grunted, snapping forward. _I'm gonna rip Saphira apart—_

He jumped forward, and Saphira returned his attack. They darted back and forth, dueling, nitpicking, but Murtagh knew that these were pathetic tiny rebuffs compared to their former attacks. By mutual truce, the two dragons eventually gave up, gliding slowly. _I'm beat,_ Thorn muttered at last. _Your turn._

The red dragon flew over Saphira's landing place, dropping heavily onto the opposite edge of the plateau. Murtagh jumped off, walking over to the injured leg. Thorn held it off the ground, trembling. _Are you done admiring it yet?_ he snapped angrily. _Hurry up and heal it!_

_As always, I bow and obey,_ Murtagh retorted. Closing his eyes, he reached for the magic, feeling the scaly hide knit together under his fingers. That done, he turned his head to watch Eragon, noting his reaction with bitter pleasure. _Well, Eragon,_ he thought coolly. _No pain, no gain? Let's see how _you_ did, shall we_?

_I'm taking flight_, Thorn announced, jumping up into the air. He eyed Saphira warily but made no move to attack; for her part, she did the same. They glided slowly, watching.

The first strike of the sword sent a burst of crimson sparks flying. Murtagh attacked, parried, defended, mildly astonished at the speed and grace with which Eragon fought. _You know, he's not bad_, Thorn commented.

_Shut up_, Murtagh said tolerantly. _I _am_ trying to concentrate_.

There was a grunt from Thorn, and Murtagh turned his mind back to the fight. Eragon advanced forward, moving with an almost feline grace. Still, he couldn't for long, not at that pace. Murtagh backed up step by step to the edge of the plateau, at which point he held, wearing Eragon down. His brother looked tired, and he was moving much too aggressively for a long battle. A defense would be enough.

_And now_, Murtagh thought grimly.

He took a step forward, and another, forcing Eragon backwards. Eragon was struggling now, the effort visible, sweat pouring down his face. He misstepped, slipped heavily, and crashed to his knees. As a last token gesture, he stabbed uselessly at Murtagh. Murtagh let out a soft hiss of laughter, sending Zar'roc flying with a lazy flick of his wrist. _Silly boy_, he thought, affectionately and contemptuously all at once. _Don't you know? Haven't you realized it yet, _brother?

And he did.

Eragon's eyes widened, skipping up the slits of the helmet, the hand-and-a-half sword. He pushed himself up, staring with obvious horror. "I _know_ you!" he cried.

He threw himself at Murtagh, forcing the helmet away.

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Murtagh grinned, amused despite himself at the horrified expression on Eragon's face. _He looks like I ran over his pet dog,_ he remarked to Thorn. "Thrysta vindr!"

A hard ball of air formed, tossing Eragon onto the ground. He landed with a heavy thump. Saphira growled softly, but Murtagh ignored her. "You never would give up," he said quietly, pointing a finger at him.

Eragon stared at him with a terrible horror, pain on his face. "Murtagh…how can you be alive?" he whispered, pushing himself to his feet. "I watched the Urgals drag you underground. I tried to scry you but saw only darkness."

Murtagh laughed, amazed at his brother's naiveté. "You saw nothing, just as I saw nothing the times I tried to scry you during my days in Uru'baen," he said softly.

"You _died_, though!" Eragon shouted, staring wildly at Murtagh. "You died under Farthen Dur. Arya found your bloody clothes in the tunnels."

Murtagh's face darkened, as memory returned. So many months ago…those damned Twins. That was the lie they had put. That was—

_Plan your bloody revenge later,_ Thorn interrupted.

_Oh._ Murtagh forced himself to face Eragon, struggling with his feelings and the uprise of the voices. "No, I did not die. It was the Twins' doing, Eragon. They took control of a group of Urgals and arranged the ambush in order to kill Ajihad and capture me. Then they ensorcelled me so I could not escape and spirited me off to Uru'baen."

Eragon shook his head, looking lost. "But why did you agree to serve Galbatorix? You told me you hated him. You told me—!"

"Agree!" Murtagh laughed, absurdly finding this statement funny. "I did not _agree_. First Galbatorix punished me for spiting his years of protection during my upbringing in Uru'baen, for defying his will and running away!" He paused, studying Eragon's face. "Then he extracted everything I knew about you, Saphira, and the Varden."

"You betrayed us!" Eragon screamed. "I was mourning you, and you betrayed us!"

Murtagh watched him slowly, feeling his laughter drain away. "I had no choice," he said somberly. _I never did_.

"Ajihad was _right_ to lock you up," Eragon spat viciously. "He should have let you rot in your cell, then none of this—"

"_I had no choice!_" Murtagh snarled, his rage rearing up once more. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. It took a while before he could speak again. "And after Thorn hatched for me," he said in a calmer voice, "Galbatorix forced both of us to swear loyalty to him in the ancient language. We cannot disobey him now."

Eragon absorbed it all, a growing look of horror and disgust welling in his face. Finally, he said, "You have become your father."

_My father…_

Murtagh smiled, savoring it. "No…not my father. I'm stronger than Morzan ever was. Galbatorix taught me things about magic you've never even dreamed of…spells so powerful, the elves dare not utter them, _cowards_ that they are. Words in the ancient language that were lost until Galbatorix discovered them. Ways to manipulate energy…" Murtagh shook his head slowly, admiringly. "Secrets, terrible secrets, that can destroy your enemies and fulfill all your desires."

"Secrets that should remain secrets," Eragon retorted.

_Oh, Eragon. You're innocent, despite everything…strangely innocent. _Murtagh sighed a little ruefully. "If you knew, you would not say that," he said quietly. "Brom was a dabbler, nothing more. And the elves, bah! All they can do is hide in their forest and wait to be conquered!" Murtagh paused, studying Eragon. "You look like an elf now. Did Islanzadi do that to you?"

Eragon didn't say anything, his jaw sticking out stubbornly. Murtagh shrugged. "No matter. I'll learn the truth soon enough—"

Two figures out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Murtagh paused, then blinked as he stared. _What're they doing here?_

_Hmm? Oh. Them_. Thorn followed his gaze, staring glumly out at the Twins. _I could disembowel them if you like_.

_Galbatorix will be angry…wait, who's that_?

There was a figure creeping up at them, one that Murtagh didn't recognize. It was obvious that Eragon did, though, and he opened his mouth to cast a spell. Murtagh shook his head. "Wait. I want to see what he'll do."

Eragon frowned slightly. "Why?"

Murtagh smiled bleakly, memories flitting into his mind. "The Twins enjoyed tormenting me when I was their captive."

Eragon gave him an odd look. "You won't hurt him? You won't hurt the Twins?"

_Twitchy little git_, Thorn remarked idly

Murtagh grimaced, giving the mental version of an annoyed sigh. Turning his mind back to Eragon, he said quietly, "Vel einradhin iet ai Shur'tugal." Upon my word as a Rider.

It was a strangely companionable moment. The two Riders, once friends and now enemies, turned to watch the man as one. The man crawled up, hiding behind a mound of bodies. Even Thorn was silent, all of them watching with anticipation as the man jumped up, slamming one Twin right in the head. The other one fell at the same moment, shrieking like a banshee until the man reared up, slamming his—

_Is that a hammer?_ Thorn wondered incredulously. _The Twins got hammered? That's such a lame pun!_

_At least they're dead,_ Murtagh said in slow disbelief. _They _are_ dead, right?_

_They look dead to me! Why did the other Twin fall—_

_Shhhh. Eragon's saying something…_Murtagh pulled his mind away, reeling with surprise. That was it? So easy? Just a man with a hammer and the Twins were gone?

"…here to kill me?" Eragon completed, finishing with a dark glare.

"Of course not," Murtagh said, fumbling to pick up the thread of the conversation. "Galbatorix wants you alive."

"What for?"

Murtagh blinked once or twice, his shock and contempt overcoming his disbelief over the Twins' deaths.. "You don't _know_?" he said incredulously. Gods, even a blind toddler could've figured it out! "Ha! There's a fine jest. It's not because of _you_; it's because of _her_." He gestured in Saphira's direction. The confusion on Eragon's face was clear, and Murtagh resisted the temptation to roll his eyes as he explained.

"The dragon inside Galbatorix's last egg, the last dragon egg in the world, is male. Saphira is the only female dragon in existence. If she breeds, she will be the mother of her entire race." Murtagh looked earnestly at Eragon, trying to make him understand. "Do you see now? Galbatorix doesn't want to eradicate the dragons! He wants to use Saphira to rebuild the Riders! He can't kill you, either of you, if his vision is to become reality…" Murtagh sighed, looking off into the distance. _Visions…_

Galbatorix's voice echoed in his head—fervent, melodious, ingrained into his mind throughout his fever and training. "And what a vision it is, Eragon," Murtagh said softly. "You should hear him describe it, then you might not think so badly of him. Is it evil that he wants to unite Alagaesia under a single banner, eliminate the need for war, and restore the Riders?"

Eragon stared at him, eyes huge. "He's the one who destroyed the Riders in the first place!" he cried, his voice a little shriek.

"And for good reason," Murtagh said, shaking his head. "They were old, fat, and corrupt! The elves controlled them and used them to subjugate humans. They _had_ to be removed so that we could start anew."

Eragon let out a half-hiss, half-snarl, scowling fiercely. He paced across the plateau, then gestured wildly at the battlefield. "How can you justify causing so much suffering on the basis of a madman's ravings? Galbatorix has done _nothing_ but burn and slaughter and amass power for himself. He lies. He murders. He manipulates! You _know_ this! It's why you refused to work for him in the first place."

Murtagh studied him, eyes narrowed.

Eragon seemed to notice this, and his voice softened slightly. "I can understand that you were compelled to act against your will, and that you aren't responsible for killing Hrothgar. You can try to _escape,_ though! I'm sure that Arya and I could devise a way to neutralize the bonds Galbatorix has laid upon you." He paused, his elfin features still containing that strange innocence he'd always had, even after so much. "Join us, Murtagh. You could do so much for the Varden. With us, you could be praised and admired, instead of cursed, feared, and hated!"

The words struck a deep chord with Murtagh. He dropped his gaze, staring down the length of his sword, seeing his reflection in the polished steel. _Damn,_ he cursed softly, not knowing what he was swearing at. _Goddamn it all._

_We can't,_ Thorn said softly.

_No, really?_ Murtagh snapped bitterly. _I gathered that. _Bile flooded his throat, and he could taste blood in his mouth. Anger hummed in his veins, anger that he didn't and couldn't control. Sensing this, the voices rose in tandem.

_Get a grip,_ Thorn said tightly.

_I don't want to,_ Murtagh whispered, a soft sound of desperation and fury. _Don't you see, Thorn? I'm sick of all this, of control—what do I want? What does Eragon want?_

_Well, I can tell you what I want,_ Thorn said cruelly. _I want you to stop whining and give him your answer! You know damn well we can't. Say so!_

It was a challenge, and despite himself Murtagh rose to it. He exhaled slowly, forcing his frustration to drain away with it. _Don't think about that,_ he thought distantly, fighting his resentment, his misery, his fury. _Survival…_

When he was sure he could control himself, he spoke again. His voice was low, controlled, and absolutely emotionless. _I can't_.

"You cannot help me, Eragon. No one but Galbatorix can release us from our oaths, and he will never do that." Murtagh raised his gaze, meeting Eragon's eyes defiantly. "He knows our true names, Eragon. We are his slaves…forever."

Pity. Sentimentality, sympathy, and compassion—Eragon stank of it. For some reason, that incensed Murtagh, and that was only increased with Eragon spoke next. "Then let us kill the two of you."

Murtagh's emotions exploded out of him, sharp and contemptuous. "Kill us! Why should we allow that?"

Eragon hesitated, apparently thinking of the right words to say. "It would free you from Galbatorix's control. And…it would save the lives of hundreds, if not thousands, of people! Isn't that a noble enough cause to sacrifice yourself for?"

Murtagh stared at Eragon with scorn, exasperation and weariness entwining within him. _A paragon!_ he thought derisively. _Such a hero you are. If our positions were switched, would you say the same? _Brother? Murtagh shook his head with annoyance. "Maybe for _you_, but life is still too sweet for me to part with it so easily. No stranger's life in more important than Thorn's or my own."

Thinking, thinking. Murtagh could almost hear the little _click click click_ as Eragon's mind spun. Almost as in slow motion, Eragon drew his sword, lunging forward. Murtagh felt pressure on his mind; he ignored that. With a small sigh of annoyance, he snapped, "Letta!"

Eragon fell onto the ground, invisible bands clamping his arms and legs. It was a sensation that Murtagh knew well, and a sudden flood of absurd satisfaction flooded him. _The scales are reversed, now! What goes up must come down, but it's also the other way around…_

Out of the corner of his eye, Murtagh saw Saphira leap forward. Almost lazily, the Rider commanded, "Risa!"

Saphira yelped with surprise, wriggling in the air. Murtagh gave himself a moment to admire the effect before turning back to Eragon. _I've never seen that before,_ Thorn wondered, pulling closer for a better look. _She's hanging in midair!_

Murtagh didn't say anything, fixing his attention on Eragon. The other Rider looked furious and confused, his eyes darting between Murtagh and Saphira. There was a hesitation, then he cried, "Brakka du vanyali sem huildar Saphira un eka!"

Instantly, Murtagh felt the pressure of Eragon's magic batter against his. He let it flail against Eragon's bonds, about as effective as a child having a tantrum. The magic of the void kept Eragon in place, and no merely human power could counter it. _Not even a dragon._

Five seconds…

Twenty seconds…

A minute…_ Not bad,_ Murtagh thought, staring flatly at Eragon. _I thought you'd give out long before this._

_I lay my bet on two minutes,_ Thorn announced.

A minute and a half…

Two minutes…

Abruptly, the pressure slacked off and released. Eragon gasped, sagging against the bindings of magic. Murtagh raised an eyebrow, mildly impressed. _I win,_ Thorn said smugly. _What now?_

Excellent questionWhat now?

Murtagh paced forward, surveying his brother slowly. Eragon was caught like a fly in a trap, too weak to even stand of his own will. This kind of power, a power to play with lives—it was intoxicating. Addicting, even, just to know that that _Eragon was his to do as he wished_. No one—excepting Galbatorix, who was not here—could stop him.

"You cannot hope to compete with me," Murtagh said softly. "No one can, except Galbatorix." Lazily, Murtagh set the point of the sword at the base of Eragon's neck; fear leapt into Eragon's eyes. "It would be _so easy_ to take you back to Uru'baen."

Eragon's breathing was tight and shallow. "Don't. Let me go."

Murtagh laughed quietly. "You just tried to kill me."

"You would've done the same in my position," Eragon said, his voice high with near panic, his eyes fixed on Murtagh's face. "We were friends, once! We fought together. Galbatorix can't have twisted you so much that you've forgotten!" He paused. "If you do this, Murtagh, you'll be lost forever."

_Forever_.

Almost as if in a dream, another voice entered Murtagh's confused thoughts. A voice from so long ago, almost another life. A voice that he'd tried to bury in his thoughts, to erase—but even after all that, was still a vital part of him.

"_Where do you draw the line in terms of need?"_

"_You have a warrior's ethics, Murtagh… They form a vital part of your being, and, well, that's important. But part of the warrior code, it's…it's honorable. I know they say there's no honor among thieves, right? But you're not a thief…"_

"_When you run this kingdom at Galbatorix's right-hand side...err on the side of caution. Try to spare lives whenever possible, and to always remember each one as a living being rather than a number."_

_Survival, Salem!_ Murtagh thought, his jaw working as he struggled to work out his thoughts. _Do you know what this will do? Do you know what Galbatorix will do if I let him go?_

The only answer was the cries of men as they died on the battlefield; the sounds of the dead and the dying. _Thorn_? Murtagh whispered, reaching out blindly.

The red dragon shook his head. _This is your choice, Murtagh...whatever you choose, I will stand by it._

Murtagh stared out at the mass of armies, watching as men fought and killed, fought and _died_. To show mercy would leave him to Galbatorix's wrath. To withhold it...

"I was ordered to try to capture you and Saphira," Murtagh said quietly. "I have tried. Make sure we don't cross paths again." He shifted his glance back to Eragon, his expression calm and bland. "Galbatorix will have me swear additional oaths in the ancient language that will prevent me from showing such mercy when next we meet." He hesitated, and lowered his sword.

_It is done_.

"You're doing the right thing," Eragon breathed.

Murtagh shrugged, a detached coolness settling over him. "Perhaps. But before I let you go…" He reached forward, touching Zar'roc with almost reverent fingers before taking the bloodred sword. Taking the sheath as well, he held the peerless sword up, where the dying light was reflected off its edges.

"If I have become my father, then I will have my father's blade. Thorn is my dragon, and a thorn he shall be to all our enemies...it is only my right, then, that I should also wield the sword _Misery_. Misery and Thorn, a fit match." He paused. "Besides, Zar'roc should have gone to Morzan's eldest son, not his youngest. It is mine by right of birth."

Shock spread over Eragon's face. Murtagh smiled slightly, savoring it. "I never told you my mother's name, did I? And you never told me yours. I'll say it now: Selena. Selena was my mother and your mother. _Morzan_ was our father. The Twins figured out the connection while they were diffing around in your head…Galbatorix was quite interested to learn that particular piece of information."

"You're lying!" Eragon screamed.

Murtagh laughed quietly, repeating what he had said in the ancient language. Stepping up to Eragon, he whispered into his brother's ear softly… "You and I—we are the same, Eragon. Mirror images of each other. You can't deny it."

"You're wrong," Eragon snarled, fighting the spell. "We're _nothing_ alike. I don't have a scar on my back anymore."

Murtagh pulled back, a sudden fury flooding his veins. Eragon, the fortunate one, the good one, the _pure _one who fought for all that stood for freedom…what could touch him? What pain or sorrow had _he_ known?

It took a long, agonized moment for him to control himself. Murtagh took a deep breath, eyes flicking up and away. "So be it. I take my inheritance from you, brother. Farewell."

Retrieving his helm from the ground, Murtagh pulled himself onto Thorn. He had made his choice, he had cast his lots. Now all was left was to see how they fell.

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_End of Chapter Inheritance_


	43. Randomness

**Explainer, Plots, Cast of Characters, and other Random Stuff**

**WARNING! DO NOT READ THIS UNLESS YOU HAVE READ ALL THE OTHER CHAPTERS! THIS WILL SERIOUSLY RUIN THE STORY FOR YOU! SO READ THE REST FIRST BEFORE LOOKING AT THIS! RAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGH!**

Okay, great. Got that. So. Welcome to the Unorganized Chapter of Insanity…basically plotlines, explainers, weird little anecdotes, etc. They're not in any particular order. These are files I've dug out of my computer completely unedited and unfixed, so you may jeer at them to your heart's content because even I think they suck to the pits of hell.

**I very seriously considered writing an epilogue to _Thorn and Misery_, but I have decided not to add anything in the end. See, it has to do with a bunch of factors including a) laziness, b) sloppiness, c) lack of time (big major sucky tests are coming, which equals lots of studying for me), d) drama, and plus another dozen factors, but too lazy to list them here. (See?) So, I'm very sorry to all you people who looked at my profile and my promise for an epilogue, but I'm a liar. XD**

Soo…to start off. Let's begin with the main point of this not-chapter, shall we? The explainer.

**EXPLAINER, CHAPTERS 1-INHERITANCE**

Well, chappies 1-3 are basic, you know, Thorn hatches, so on and so forth. It's not until chapter 4 that a new character is introduced, Salem Blackfire.

Okay. When I first made Salem, I intended a romance. It wasn't until chapter…what, thirty? that the romance actually started…huh. And even then, I think it was really a friendship…so much for that. But hey, they did eventually get together, eh?

The riddle introduced in chapter 5 was a herald of Peregrine and the romance. I'll explain it line by line.

_When Vrael's eye lies in fateful rest,_

_And jackals shimmer of ev'ry shade,_

_Wyrda's feet are put to the test,_

_And the threads be hewn by death's dark blade?_

I said in chapter 11 that Vrael has the greenest eyes. Don't know if anybody picked up on that. So the eye thing refers to the last dragon egg. Jackals are scavengers, and traditionally play the roles of mangy thieves; Sílica are thieves of the last dragon egg. Wyrda, fate, and the 'threads' here are the threads of love that was meant to be the impending romance. The riddle doesn't play as nearly big a role as I thought it would; in reality it's just kind of a foreshadowing. OOH!

So, in chapter 5 Salem and Murtagh meet for the first time, never mind the fact that Murtagh was unconscious when it happened.

Chapter 6 and 7 bring in Murtagh's magic and also the first stages of Thorn/Murtagh transformation from somebody stoic and at least halfway honorable into hardened shells who trust only each other. Chapter 7 also tells of Heii (Peregrine magicker) and his death, and the impact it has on Sílica.

Chapter 8 tells of Salem and Reynold…well, that romance seemed to be getting farther and farther away, which was really kind of annoying. But at that point I just wrote on a whim…I had no all-knowing and all-powerful Plot then. O.o.

Tria Atalini (Talinia) pops in on us in Chapter 9, and the next chapter helps link it into Murtagh's discovery of Sílica and the introduction of our two lovebirds! Of course, then chapter 11 kills off Tria and also puts in effect the routs, which basically means Sílica has fallen to pieces. Chapter 11 also brings in Reynold's death. Wow. Chapter 11 was not a happy chapter.

Wait…where did Chapter 10 go? Heh? Anyway…

Chapter 12…now here we start to get all bubbly and totally happy-making (yay Scott Westerfield!). Thorn is revealed to be hiding a Secret (yes, capital letter and all), and in Chapter 13 the Secret is to be Peregrine and his guardians. In other words, Neal, Martaila, and Reya (though I don't know if she really counts, as all she really does is jibber about that scary red dragon flying around). You also kind of get the idea that Thorn doesn't like Salem in this chapter…and of course, it ends with the TWINS. The evil TWINS. MUAHAHAHA! –giggle-

Murtagh kicks Twin butt in chapter 14, and a new character is paved—Connac Blackfire, though he's not fully introduced here.

Chapters 15 and 16 take place at the same time as chapters 17 and the front of 18, chronicling the separate adventures of Murtagh/Thorn and Salem. I'll take Murtagh's side first. Basically, he and Thorn saunter off into the woods and have a nice chat with Martaila before returning to the palace and getting destroyed by Galbatorix. Those are the most basic points of those two chapters, but there're a lot more details (which obviously you all know because you read all the other chapters first…right?). Meanwhile, Salem is busy running amok in the sewers, Connac is introduced, and the section(s) officially ends with Salem eluding Connac's soldiers.

Now. The end of chapter 18 is pretty important. Murtagh and Thorn have been given orders to split up, and Salem is discovered by Gen and taken to the remnants of Sílica. And, of course, the balcony falls down. –splat- Yeah. While by contrast, 19 isn't exactly a long or important chapter. Salem is taken to Sílica, meets everybody, and Murtagh heals the guy he squashed via the balcony. That's about it.

Chapter 20, Galby shows just how much of an S.O.B. he is by separating Thorn and Murtagh. Gen is wounded, Serrion dies, and Murtagh gets Connac's permission to go haring after Salem. In 21, Barley (Matiel) passes on a cryptic message to Martaila and Neal, warning them of a spy and his suspicions.

Now, here's a little behind-the-scenes work. Serrion and Gen went out to who-knows-where together—the result is that Serrion is killed and Gen dies. This was the floorwork for Gen's betrayal. Serrion confronted Gen about his suspicions, and Gen killed him because Serrion knew too much. Serrion lashed in self-defense and wounded Gen.

Aren't I brilliantly evil? –cough cough- If you have a different opinion, keep it to yourself. Anyway. The rest of this chapter is typical action stuff—Murtagh seeks with his mind, finds the last Sílica stronghold, and freaks out Liane and company. It ends with a cliffhanger, which is promptly resolved in chapter 22 as Murtagh blows in the door and Liane sacrifices herself to let Rina and Ides escape.

The chapter ends with a crappy section with Thorn flying around, feeling depressed. All in all, 22 was not the best chapter I've ever written. Anyhoo. In 23, it's yay sewers, Murtagh also discovers his limits, and everybody gets all depressed because life sucks, basically. The Twins also get a taste of their own medicine when Galby zaps them with the Evil Mind Force Power Thing of Doom. Thorn is taken back to the palace, and we don't see hide nor tail of him for quite a while.

Moving on…Chapter 24. Sílica (comprising of Rina, Ides, Salem, Gen, and Matiel as of this chapter) find that Liane is officially Dead, but not before Martaila, Nealan, and Reya reach the body first. Martaila and co. move away, presumably to the smugglers, but they're obviously not there in chapter 27. Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Martaila and co. don't meet up with Sílica in this chapter, but both discover that Liane is dead. Connac's post also gets shifted to the city patrol.

4/3/101 is turning out to be quite an eventful day, and it's not done yet! In chappie 25, Ides gets into a bit of trouble and Murtagh hears the distress, resulting in a collision in chapter 26. Salem is taken by Murtagh, Gen/Ides relationship is revealed, and a cryptic messenger arrives for Connac (who is now city patrol), all in chapter 26. The messenger is Samker Effiwin, the master of Greenwort's Tavern, which is a HUGE clue to what happens in the next chapter.

Chapter 27. I had been planning this chapter for a REALLY REALLY REALLY long time…it starts four hours after Chapter 27, with Sílica finding the Pirean smugglers, gaining passage, then having the city patrol (led by Connac) arrest them. It details the revelation of Gen/Teleus's betrayal and his role in finally bringing down Peregrine.

Neehahaha. -evil cackle- Moving on!

28-30 contain lots and lots of Salem/Murtagh fluff (yay!). No, really, not yay. They were the hardest, grudgingest (not a word), terriblelest (not a word either) chapters I have ever had to write in my entire life. Basic content? Salem and Murtagh get in a match of wills while they tussle back and forth, and finally they get tossed in jail. Ain't that nice o' me?

Chapter 31 lays the groundwork for Chapters 32 and 33, meaning that Martaila/Neal/Reya move out, and Murtagh is released from jail. Chapter 32, Martaila/Neal promptly die. No word from Reya yet, though my suspicion is that she ran into the woods and became a gibbering hermit.

33 ends with the pwnest cliffie I've ever written! Ahh! –dodges tomatoes- You don't have to resort to violence, you know. –sniffles- So, in this enlightening chappie there's a little Connac/Murtagh showdown, some Connac/Salem fluff, some Murtagh/Salem fluff, and lots of happy dappy all around. Rundown of the chapter—Murtagh and Connac meet, they arrange to free Salem, Murtagh and Salem run to the sewers and it ends with the BIG BAD CLOUD hanging in front of them. And Thorn! Yee!

I separated chapter 34 into two chapters just to drive everybody nuts. 34I has a fairly unadventurous plotline; Shruikan sits around and guards Murtagh and Salem. Some M/S fluff, M/T fluff, and S/T fluff. Not much else. 34II, one of the Twins comes and picks them up, redirecting them to a chamber where they can wait for his Most Royal Majesty…Galby. Anyway, Galbatorix takes them for a little ride. Once again, fluffiness—M/T, M/S mostly. It ends with them landing near the Flam River.

In 35 I bring in some notable quotes that I'll use later in the Burning Plains, and there's a huge hunka Murtagh/Salem fluff. And yes, they kiss! –hugs- What a happy scene, which I just have to deflate in chapter 36 as they land in the Ephicai Vinael, the Vault of Souls. Murtagh finds the source of his magic there, but also sacrifices Salem to living hell while he's at it. Once again, another cliffhanger/half/sort of-thing where Murtagh plunges down the first path to bitterness/insanity.

In 37, there's a little insanity scene going on as Murtagh has a fever and starts raving. Galbatorix's doctrines are implanted in his mind…really short chapter, but important. In 38, lots and lotsa M/T interaction; you can clearly see Thorn's bitterness culminate here. 39, Murtagh is given his assignment and off we saunter to the Burning Plains.

Chapter 40 is all Connac/Mikael…then DAMN, Connac's poisoning! NOO! ANGELA, I'M GONNA RIP YOU TO PIECES! –wails and sniffs- Okay, I'm done…I think…Mikael's a favorite charrie of mine cuz he's based off somebody I used to know. –nods and smiles-

And after that…

Chapter Inheritance! The finale! The epilogue! The culmination, finish, ending, end, DENOUEMENT! Don't you just love electronic thesauruses? I owe everything to Encarta thesaurus. That's one HUGE acknowledgement I must make. –bows to Encarta- Without you, believe me, I'd be screwed big time…

Eragon/Murtagh meeting, DOY! Been building up to this chapter for this entire fic, so it had better be good! –shakes fist- Anyway, the chapter might be slightly prejudiced because I think Eragon needs a life, but hey whatever. You liked it, right?

So there you have it, _Thorn and Misery _in three pages! Over the length of 41 chappies, squashed down into three pages…not bad. Is this confusing? _I_ think it is, but I'm too lazy to rewrite it. (See again?)

**ORIGINAL PLOTLINE**

**And just for kicks, here's the original plotline I made. How much of it actually went into the story? Not much, eh? This is really boring, feel free to skippy.**

Galbatorix's plan is three-fold: first and foremost, to capture Neal and make him the third Rider. Two: to take the last remaining members of Peregrine into custody, and three: to use Salem to open the Vault of Souls for Murtagh.

The first part is the most important. Galbatorix learned of Neal and Martaila through his spy, Gen, but for a long time was unable to do anything about it; they were too heavily guarded. That is, until the routs. Martaila and Neal were placed in the woods, where they were thought to be safe. Galbatorix didn't know their location until he probed Murtagh's mind, and so he sent Thorn and Gen to take them, believing that at least one of them would succeed.

Unfortunately for him, Serrion had been growing suspicious for awhile, sharing his suspicions with Matiel, his closest friend. Serrion finally confronted Gen; Gen killed him but was wounded in the process. Matiel, while Gen was still unconscious, took this opportunity to relocate Martaila and Neal, hiding them just in time and also warning them about _a spy_.

Needless to say, Galbatorix was not pleased. As apparently only Matiel knew the new location, he needed to capture Matiel because Gen couldn't probe minds. This was far easier said than done, though, as Matiel was chary of Gen and venturing out. But he did finally manage to succeed in it, capturing him, finding the new location, then disposing of the poor guy.

Martaila is no damsel in distress. She moved a lot at the first sign of trouble. Remember those crystal necklaces? The one that Salem has? Ides had been keeping in touch with Martaila, unaware of all the drama, until Martaila informed him of Matiel's cryptic words. Ides leapt to conclusions and wrongly suspected Salem. She stormed out of the house, all in a tizzy, getting incredibly lost and going right into Murtagh's arms. Murtagh had been searching for quite a while before finally finding her. His instructions by then were a bit outdated. He took her to the woods, where Martaila and Neal were supposed to be. By then, of course, nobody was there. They get into a fight, but some of it—a tiny bit—is resolved. Feelings and a real pivotal point in the Murtagh/Salem relationship start. However, a last patrol of soldiers that had been left behind finds them. Murtagh, struggling with his feelings and undecided, lets them take Salem and goes up to the palace.

Meanwhile, Gen is doing the very best he can to find the new location when Galbatorix gets impatient with the subtle method and sends in a troop of soldiers to flush them all out. All of them are captured, except Gen, who miraculously 'escapes'.

From Ides, Galbatorix learns of the crystal necklaces. He forces the man to send two messages—one to Martaila, telling her of a Peregrine messenger who will come to get them. The second to Salem, telling her of a rescue attempt. Gen, the traitor, acts as the Peregrine messenger. Reya is killed as she tries to escape. Martaila, refusing to bring a second Rider under Galbatorix's rule, kills Neal before committing suicide.

To summarize what's happened in two sentences: Peregrine is captured and the would-be Rider is dead. All that's left is objective three.

Murtagh, meanwhile, is wavering constantly. While Galbatorix is occupied with Neal and Martaila, he finally gives in to his conscience after hours of arguing with himself. Thorn is still blocked off from him; he is utterly alone. Finally, he decides to rescue her, playing right into Galbatorix's hands. They are caught, long story short, and put in a jail cell overnight. Then, Galbatorix takes them via Shruikan to the Vault of Souls.

**ALT CHAPTERS 2 AND 3, INCOMPLETE**

**These were the original chapters 2 and 3 that I made, but I didn't like them so I scrapped them. Yes, Malticai du Kaiya was originally Murtagh's true name, but I changed it because I thought it sounded too girly.**

**Also, the original source of Murtagh's true name is through an elf. But I couldn't get it to make sense for Thorn, which is another reason why these chapters asploded. BOOM! –fizzle- Don't laugh too hard at me, I'll cry!**

**Chapter Three entails Thorn's hatching and the forming of Murtagh's gedwey ignasia thingy, which I didn't write into the posted chapters.**

He must've fainted, for the next thing he was aware of were cool fingers on his chin. "Relax, Murtagh," Galbatorix said soothingly. His face curled into an evil grin. "Or shall I say, _Malticai du Kaíya?_"

A strange tingle shot through Murtagh at the sound of the name. He swallowed thickly, feeling helpless rage course through his veins. "Answer me!" Galbatorix barked.

"Yes," Murtagh answered, sagging with defeat. "Yes, that is…that is my true name." He swallowed thickly and forced himself to look Galbatorix in the eye. "I am your slave," he said bitterly.

Galbatorix _laughed_. He laughed, the bastard. "Why, Murtagh, why such a depressing viewpoint? I do like the sound of it—_Malticai du Kaíya_. Hmm. Interesting combination—contradictions, bits of this, bits of that—" he smiled, slow and cold. "True names give one so much power, don't you agree? It's interesting how you got an elf to tell you…hmm, pity you didn't accompany him to Ellesméra, eh?"

Murtagh didn't answer, eyes fixed dully on the ground. Galbatorix murmured, "Rekna," under his breath. The iron chains snapped open with a dull clank. "Come, Malticai du Kaíya," Galbatorix whispered. "There is something you must see."

Murtagh rose—he had no choice. Walking as if in a dream, he followed the Rider-King down winding passageways, past multitudes of guards, and finally down a flight of stairs into a round, dank chamber.

He heard the occupant of the prison before he saw it. Towering within it was a massive black dragon, roaring; a thundering sound that threatened to knock him to his knees. Galbatorix shouted something incomprehensible over the noise, and the black dragon fell silent, head hanging. Galbatorix turned to him, eyes bright.

"This is Shruikan," he said softly. "Shruikan is my dragon, mine. He belongs to me, do you understand?" His mouth twisted into a resentful smile. "The other Rider lost his right to bond with Shruikan…he is _mine!_" The black dragon puffed a slow cloud of smoke. Murtagh touched the dragon's consciousness with a light tendril of thought. Mournful sorrow came out to him, along with unshed tears. _Marafin,_ Shruikan said softly.

_Your former Rider?_

"Enough!" Galbatorix roared, cutting off their communication violently. He turned onto Murtagh, eyes bright. "You will not talk to Shruikan, Malticai du Kaíya, do you understand? Never! Never!"

Murtagh flinched as the force of the command hit him. He nodded, numb. Galbatorix's rage faded as quickly as it had come, a smile spreading over his face once more. "All right," he said. "Shruikan, move!"

The great black dragon shuffled dolefully aside, eyes watching them sadly. Galbatorix ignored the dragon and walked deeper into the chamber. "Look," he hissed, touching a silver box.

The latch swung open at his touch, revealing two pearly stones—one blood-red, and the other emerald. "Dragon eggs?" Murtagh asked, vaguely puzzled. "Why should they hatch for me, Morzan's son?"

Galbatorix turned to him. "It tends to run in families," he said slowly. "Father to son, mother to daughter—most commonly, though, brother to brother." He cocked his head, watching horror dawn on Murtagh's face. "You should be happy," he snarled. "At last, someone shares your shame. Thanks to you, I can now scry him…your side, our side, has a means of defeating this so-called Rider." He cocked his head. "Eragon. The first Rider. And also the last, the last to stand against us!"

Galbatorix's fingers curled around Murtagh's wrist. "They will hatch for you. They _will_."

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Chapter Three: Thorn

Cracks spread across the surface of the red stone; slowly at first, then spreading across like a plague. Murtagh stood, transfixed by the sight. "It's hatching," he breathed softly.

Galbatorix stood silently nearby, eyes filled with something that was not quite hate, and not quite jealousy, but a strange mixture of both. As the small red dragon tumbled clumsily out of its egg, Galbatorix whispered, "I was right."

Murtagh ignored him, reaching a hand forward slowly. The dragon eyed it curiously and snapped playfully at it, teeth clacking inches away. Murtagh jerked back, startled. "It's beautiful," he said softly.

"Touch it, Malticai," Galbatorix ordered coldly. "Now."

Murtagh's palm lunged forward, touching the neck of the red dragon. A roaring fire filled his ears as the world swirled into a rainbow of colors. He fell to the floor, numb.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When it finally passed, Murtagh found himself in a bed, the first bed he'd been in for what felt like years. He sat up slowly, head swimming—

Then abruptly jumped out of bed, yelling at the top of his lungs. The small red dragon gave a squeak and launched itself clumsily after him, tumbling to a halt at his feet. Murtagh stared in disbelief. "What—what—what—" he managed eloquently.

From the doorway, Galbatorix laughed. Murtagh spun around, eyes wild. "Oh, get a grip on yourself, Malticai," the sorcerer-king snapped. "You're a Rider now—how does it feel?"

Murtagh swallowed hard and looked at his shaking palm. There, glistening slightly, lay the gedwey ignasia (A/N: can't figure how to get the little two dot things on top of the e). "I'm a Rider?" he gasped, disbelieving. "But—"

The first tendril of the baby dragon's thoughts touched his, and Murtagh shut up. "Oh," he said finally. "Okay." Reaching down, he picked up the small dragon gently. A terrible pain came into his heart, and he sighed. "I'm—I'm a slave, aren't I?" he said finally, looking at Galbatorix. "Your slave. To use against Eragon." He hesitated a moment more, then said, "My brother."

"Quite," Galbatorix purred. "But why look at it from such a depressing viewpoint? You're an esteemed servant of the Empire, second only to me! Of course, that doesn't seem like too much now, but later, when I feel like I can trust you more…" he laughed. "There's a whole world out there, just waiting for us." Taking Murtagh's limp hands in his, Galbatorix said persuasively, "Imagine, Murtagh. The old Riders were old, outdated—they fought constantly within themselves, pretty much reducing their usefulness to nothing. But if we form the Riders again—this time, under a single banner—imagine what good we can do! For Alagaesia, Murtagh!"

Murtagh hesitated, looking down at the dragon. His dragon. Finally, in a weak voice, he whispered, "But…Eragon…I can't…"

Galbatorix shook his head and sighed gently, as a father disappointed in his son. "It will become clear to you in time, Murtagh," the king said kindly. "Don't fret about it now." He gazed down at the young dragon, now pawing in Murtagh's lap. "Don't worry about your brother. He'll learn."

Murtagh shuddered at the implied threat in Galbatorix's voice, vividly remembering the pain the torturers had inflicted upon him. He pulled away, his voice rough. "Do as you will," he said with an effort.

Galbatorix stood, a cold smile on his face. "Oh, I will," he said mirthlessly. "It's not like you can resist, eh, Malticai?"

He swept out of the room. Murtagh was left alone on the bed, callused hands rubbing the dragon's head slowly. As if it sensed his mood, it nuzzled his fingers, licking them gently, ruby eyes looking mournfully up at him.

"Oh, what do you know?" Murtagh said hoarsely. "You were just born a few days ago, at most. You've got nothing to worry about. You aren't the slave of some man who knows your true—"

**CHAPTER TWO BEFORE IT WAS REVISED**

**This is chapter two, just in case you started to read _Thorn and Misery_ after I revised chapter two.**

Chapter Two: Uru'Baen

(A/N: this is after Murtagh has been tortured and everything. He's meeting Galbatorix in this little scene)

"Murtagh," Galbatorix greeted coolly. "How has our hospitality been?"

Murtagh didn't respond, his eyes unfocused. In a way, he was grateful for the chains binding him to the chair—he didn't think he could sit up without them. A cold, icy finger ran along his cheek, making him shudder. "Very good? I'm glad."

Galbatorix walked back to his throne, a slight sneer on his lips. "Are you willing to serve me now, Murtagh? Have I taught you correctly?" He leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "Your father, Morzan, was the most faithful of my men. I trust you shall be the same?"

Murtagh didn't respond. Galbatorix shook his head, then roared, "Waíse heill!"

A long shudder ran down Murtagh's spine as injuries knitted themselves closed, muscles reformed and bones melded back into one. Murtagh's eyes focused, snapping toward the king. "Good," the king said darkly. "Your limpness was getting to be a bore, and I don't like being bored."

Murtagh swallowed, feeling much more clear-headed and also much more frightened. "I will never serve you," he said hoarsely. "Not willingly. What do you want with me? I'm a fair swordsman, but there must be hundreds others like me! I'm of no use to you."

Galbatorix laughed. It was not a pleasant sound to hear. "That is where you are mistaken, son of my friend," he said mockingly. Stepping down from the dais, he said quietly, "There is much you can tell me…my torturers, talented as they are, are sadly lacking in this particular skill…"

Galbatorix's mind slammed into Murtagh's violently. Frantically, he threw up barriers, trying to defend himself from the vicious, unrelenting assault. His body arched up in the chair, eyes rolling in their sockets. "No—" he choked. "No—no—"

Bit by bit, inch by inch, Galbatorix forced his way in. Things were pried out—Eragon, Arya, Brom, their time in Gil'ead, the Varden, his childhood, anything, everything, pulled out against his will. His life was laid bare under Galbatorix's scrutiny; not a single inch went unexamined. Tears ran down Murtagh's face as he remembered bitter memories he had struggled to bury, painful things that were meant to be private—_NO!_

He must've fainted, for the next thing he was aware of was that he was lying on a bed, the first bed in what seemed like eternity. Sitting up slowly, he saw Galbatorix standing over him. "Eragon is protected," the king said lightly. "It seems that the images you have provided me with aren't enough to scry him."

Murtagh couldn't find anything to say. Finally, he managed, "Oh."

"Fortunately," the king said, pacing around him, "I have you." He turned around, eyes gleaming. Within his arms, he held a chest. Murmuring a word, he clicked the chest open.

Within lay two gleaming eggs—one emerald, and the other ruby. Murtagh stared at them, momentarily stunned. "The last two dragon eggs," he said finally.

"There would be three, but Brom and his little friend happened to steal the other," Galbatorix said conversationally. "It made me most vexed, but I'm glad Brom's dead. Jared…well, I don't know exactly where he is, but I'll find him soon." He glanced at Murtagh, a half-smile on his face. "Rider blood runs in your line," he said calmly. "There are two dragons here…and one will accept you."

"You don't know that," Murtagh said, struggling onto his knees. "My mother wasn't a Rider."

"She could've been," Galbotorix shrugged. "Pity she wasn't, but it doesn't matter. Your brother's blood cancels it all out, Murtagh."

"My brother?" Murtagh said, frowning slightly. "I don't have a—"

Horror dawned on his face as he finally understood. Galbatorix grinned knowingly at him. "Interesting, isn't it, hmm? As I said, I still can't scry him, but you're welcome to try. Perhaps shared blood will make it easier…" he shrugged, then looked back at the two eggs. "But shared blood will make you a Rider."

Murtagh shook his head wildly, frantically. "No! That can't be true, and you know it! I—I—" he looked down at his hands, thoughts dancing madly through his head. Finally, he said, "I'll never work for you. I'll run away to the Varden—"

"Oh, them? My first horde of Urgals didn't work it, which is rather disappointing. Still, if at first you don't succeed, try, try, again, right? So really, you haven't got much to run away to. If you can find your brother, he'll either be dead or else converted. Not much choice there, either. But as for you…" Galbatorix closed the chest carefully and set it down on a table. Raising his hands once more, he barked, "Malthinae!"

Murtagh fell back onto the bed, held in place by invisible chains. Galbatorix eyed the prone man then resumed pacing. "The ancient language is vastly powerful, if you hadn't gathered that already. Everything can be named in it, including people…and there are ways to find out those names." He laughed. "Let's see, shall we? Eyddr eyreya myder!"

Murtagh fell into a semi-conscious haze, a blank arena in which nothing existed. It was darker than night, and his thoughts ceased to move…it was as if he were dead himself.

Sound seeped through slowly, echoing around the vast emptiness until they became a compelling order in which he had to obey. A set of words emerged slowly from the darkness, words of power. Murtagh struggled to hold them back, but the net of sound that was Galbatorix reached down effortlessly and plucked them from his grasp.

The darkness released him. Murtagh was thrown violently back into the harsh light of the dungeon, shivering and feeling as if he had just risen from death itself. Galbatorix's smug face filled his vision as the king threw a blanket at him. "Oh, cover yourself, you idiot," he said with a mirthless smile. "Or, should I say, _Brikijae Knívarya?_"

Though he had never heard those words in his life before, Murtagh recognized them instantly. His mouth twisted open to respond, unable to resist. "Yes," he whispered. "That is my true name."

**CHAPTER FOUR-ORIGINAL**

**Original chapter four before I decided to introduce new characters :) I needed a plot and this one couldn't give it, so it DIED! BWAHAHAHA!**

Murtagh's training began the very next day. A servant woke Murtagh up while it was still pitch black, handing him a sword wordlessly before shoving him out into the dark courtyard. He blinked, trying to gather his thoughts together. "Hello?" he called into the darkness.

There was the sharp whistle of a blade slicing through the air. Murtagh swung the sword up instinctively, blocking the blade with a clang. The weapon felt odd in his hands, heavy. _I've grown lazy,_ he thought wildly. _What's going on? _

The mysterious attacker swung again, arcing towards his side. Murtagh dodged and attacked on his own, letting himself settle into the calm focus he had in battle. Pivoting sharply, he stabbed the blade towards what he judged to be the man's neck. A quick patter of feet greeted his attack, and Murtagh lunged backwards before he lost his balance. He stood, waiting.

A sharp word was uttered, and lights suddenly flared. With a yell, Murtagh dropped the blade, shielding his eyes. As he did so, he felt the point of his enemy's sword upon his neck. "You're dead, Murtagh," said a gravelly voice he recognized as Galbatorix's.

"I realize that," he snapped, lifting his hand gingerly, eyes watering with pain. "Why don't you just kill me and get it over with?"

The sorcerer king laughed. "What, and miss all this fun?" He eyed the man. "Months of inactivity haven't done you good. You've grown slower from last time I saw you—who was your trainer again? Tonny? Toran?"

Murtagh opened his mouth to answer, but Galbatorix had already stepped away. "Has the egg hatched yet?"

"No," Murtagh said grimly, hauling himself to his feet. "I'm wondering if I should smash the damn thing and get this over with."

"So why didn't you?" Galbatorix asked rhetorically, then laughed. "You won't. The egg was bound to you the second the first crack appeared. On guard!"

Without warning, he lunged. Murtagh ducked under the blade and rolled, hands smacking heavily down onto the hilt of his weapon. Mouth set into a thin line, he attacked. "What's the point of this?" he asked between blows. "The egg hasn't even hatched yet!"

"It will," the king answered calmly before slamming his fist into Murtagh's nose. The man retaliated immediately, jerking his knee up towards the king's groin. With a gasp, Galbatorix jumped away, eyes narrowing.

Murtagh felt the iron grip slam into his mind again. He closed his eyes, sweating as he struggled to keep Galbatorix out of his mind. "What—"

He opened his eyes just in time to see the blade lancing towards his head. With a cry, Murtagh dropped to the ground, his concentration breaking. Galbatorix jumped into his mind squarely, anticipating his next move and shouting, "Letta!"

With a shudder, Murtagh obeyed, the sword dropping from his hands. He lay panting on the ground, eyes watching Galbatorix. "Okay, you've beaten me," he said finally. "And the point of that was?"

"The point, my little friend, is that there is much to be done." Galbatorix stepped back, helping Murtagh up. "Your defenses are fairly capable, you're a fine swordsman, but you play fair. And that's your problem. You didn't expect my punch, did you? You didn't expect my use of magic. To win, you have to cheat. It's the only way."

Murtagh rolled to his feet, silent. Galbatorix threw a towel at him. "There's a well over there," he said, indicating a field to the right of the building. "Clean yourself up—somebody will come to escort you back to your cell."

Murtagh accepted the towel soundlessly. As Galbatorix turned, Murtagh said after him, "You're very trusting to someone who'd kill you at the opportune moment."

"I know who you are, Brikijae Knívarya," Galbatorix said. He turned back, smiling slightly. "You don't know the words yet, Murtagh, but you will swear loyalty to me. For now, your true name's enough. But later…" he shrugged, his expression promising more. "Now leave."

**ORIGINAL SCRYING SCENE**

**This chapter was the original chapter 38, but I decided it was too unrealistic and to try to fit it into chapter 39. But then I discovered that it was easier to just rewrite the whole stupid thing, so this gets dumped into the trash pile**.

Thorn knew instinctively who he was talking about. _Do you?_ the dragon asked in reply. _Once, you fought for the Varden. Soon, very soon, you will be pitched against them. There's a difference between fighting because you must, and fighting because you will. Which one are you?_

Murtagh hesitated.

_Never mind, _Thorn advised quietly. There was a pause, and then he added, _You miss her, don't you?_

_Yes,_ Murtagh answered, feeling the familiar pain in his chest. It was muted, dulled by time, but still there. _But she's gone, now. A memory of the past._

A soft huff of laughter. _Are you angry?_

_I can't be angry forever,_ Murtagh said. _Galbatorix...listen, Thorn. The dream. I can't—_

_Yes, I'm your on-call psychiatrist, _Thorn said, tiredly amused. _Go on, tell._

Murtagh couldn't laugh at Thorn's weary humor. _It's…it always begins in light. I see them. All of them. We're standing in an arena, and our quarry is in the middle. We don't know what it is, but…we _want_ it._

_So we fight. Every man…or woman…for himself. Herself. And all the time, they're outside, just waiting. Every time one of us dies, they leap. And finally, it's just me and Eragon…lost in this tight circle of darkness. All the others are gone. We don't even know what we're fighting for anymore, only the knowledge that the other must die._

_And…who wins?_ Thorn said after a pause.

Murtagh shook his head. _I don't know. I've never found out, until tonight. We fight, and fight, and usually I just wake up there…but not today. _

_I assume you won?_ Thorn said lightly.

_No,_ Murtagh said.

A pause. Murtagh could almost feel Thorn's skepticism. _Then…Eragon wins?_

_No,_ Murtagh said again.

There was an exasperated sigh. _Oh, come on. This is like pulling teeth. Who wins!_

_Neither of us,_ Murtagh said quietly. _In the dream, I can't stop myself. I…well, I slash him first. The sword I use is Zar'roc, for some reason, and I can see the glyph on the sword. And then…and then there's a searing pain, and I look down to see a white sword slicing through me. And then the darkness falls…we both die, Thorn. Both of us. By each other's hand. _He fell silent, uncertain.

_Am I in this basket of cheerfulness?_ Thorn inquired.

_No. Saphira isn't there, either._

_Then it'll never come true,_ Thorn said simply. _I won't desert you, Murtagh. Even if nasty Saphira comes and claws my head off. My headless corpse will be there, no matter what._

Murtagh had to laugh softly. _That's reassuring._

_It should be. I'm a dragon; you're only a fragile human. Give me some credit._

Murtagh smiled, shaking his head. _Don't underestimate us fragile humans,_ he advised. _Under Galbatorix's direction, we are the ones who will craft Alagaesia._

_Well, duh, because the elves and dwarves suck to the pits of hell,_ Thorn said acidly. _You haven't got much competition on that quarter. But dragons—pffbt. I daresay we have a trick or two up our sleeves._

_You haven't got sleeves,_ Murtagh pointed out.

_That makes it all the more marvelous_, Thorn said contentedly.

They stood there in calm silence for a while. Murtagh could feel the tension in his mind lightening, although one question still remained. _I wonder how they are_, Murtagh murmured. _Eragon…_

_Then scry him,_ came the idle reply. _In fact, I honestly don't know why you haven't done it before. _

_But—I've never scryed anyone—_ Murtagh said hesitantly.

Thorn's head popped down, staring at Murtagh with clear astonishment. _You don't know how to scry! What, were you born in a bin? Even _I _know how, and I'm not the one training under Galbatorix's tutelage—_

_How would _you_ know? _Murtagh asked crossly. _Scrying isn't a dragon talent._

_Because I have ears, dolt,_ Thorn said impatiently. _You're making excuses. Galbatorix clearly taught you how to scry. You've just forgotten._

_I have not,_ Murtagh said indignantly. _Scrying isn't high priority—_

_No, figuring how to kill people is,_ Thorn grumbled. _That and manipulating power…it's ridiculous. Draumr kopa, remember? _

_I know!_ Murtagh yelled. _I know the words. I'm just saying, I've never actually _scryed_ anyone before. I haven't practiced._

_Well, now's as good a time to try as any,_ Thorn said cheerfully. _Take a shot. Use the water in that pitcher of yours._

Murtagh hesitated, then drew the pitcher close. Shutting his eyes, he called upon the source of the magic.

He had lost Salem, a loss that still wounded him. In addition to that, he suffered with the unceasing voices in his head—they were a nuisance, and sometimes far more than that. Sometimes, they almost literally drove him insane with their cries and wails.

In return, though…

Murtagh breathed slowly, drawing upon the wellspring in his mind. Power flowed into him, ripe and heavy. Every inch of him tingled as the power pulsed, pushing for an exit. It was an intoxicating feeling.

Slowly, as if drugged, he whispered, "Draumr kopa."

The surface of the water blurred, filled with a maelstrom of colors. They pulsed once, rippling, and then—

Faded.

Murtagh stared with surprise. _How can this…_

_Pour more power into the spell,_ Thorn suggested.

Murtagh did so. It was no strain for him at all; the power _wanted_ to be used. He increased his efforts, staring fiercely at the surface. _Eragon,_ he thought. _Show…me…his…face!_

There was no image. Nothing.

He let the magic go, feeling discouraged. _Maybe I did something wrong?_

_I doubt it,_ Thorn said. _Based on my world-wise experience, you did everything just fine._

Murtagh sighed, bracing his palms on the railing as he stared into the distance.

**And that's it for the assorted crap section! Please don't mock me too much; I KNOW they suck. Don't rub my nose into it. –cringes-**

**CAST OF CHARACTERS:**

**(owned by CP)**

**Murtagh Morzanson** (guessing on last name, really), **Galbatorix **the Supreme Ruler of All Alagaesia (or so he thinks), the **Twins** (boo, hiss!), **Eragon Garrowson** (or is it Morzanson, now? Who knows?), **Thorn **(though his personality is MINE!), and a few other characters like **Hrothgar **who really doesn't count because he died after a few sentences. Oh, and let's not forget the animals, shall we? **Blagden** the nutty raven, and **Maud** the werecat.

**(mine, dead or not. mostly dead. –sighs-)**

**Salem Blackfire**, **Connac Blackfire**, **Eugenides Farrow** (or Teleus, whatever), **Martaila sa DeVann**, Nealan (**Neal**), **Reya** the whimpering maid, Henrides Miyan (**Ides**), **Liane** Jeryl, **Rina** Onadatir, **Matiel** Ryeson, **Serrion** insert-last-name-I-forgot-it-here, Tria Atalini (**Talinia**), Jacob of no last name (**Heii**), **Charis** **Felin,** **Reynold** **Barrickson**, **Mikael Kretz**, **Garrett Fryling**, **Evyn Chandler**, **Adrian Healey, Darl** (the king's messenger), and various other **soldiers** and/or **magickers** who played minimal roles.

Let's give them all a big round of applause! Whoot!

**ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:**

Um, what do I owe? Encarta Thesaurus, of course. Uh…Tamora Pierce, Bill Watterson (creator of the ALMIGHTY CALVIN AND HOBBES!), Garth Nix, Scott Westerfield, Terry Brooks, Diane Duane, and about a bazillion other authors in which I have stolen material either directly or indirectly from. Not that they care, I think. But this is just in case people get all nitpicky at me stealing their best lines.

Also, I guess to CP…I mean, this entire fic is based off his characters, right? Even if he did rip them off from LOTR and Star Wars. And in case you haven't figured it out yet, all or most of the dialogue between Eragon/Murtagh and Saphira/Thorn came directly from _Eldest_. I did edit a little of it, but mostly it's untouched. YOU NO SUE! NO SUE! NOOOOOOO!

-returns to sanity and grins stupidly-

Most especially, though, I must thank all ye reviewers! TANK YOOSE SO MUCH! ME IS VERRY HAPPEE.

Seriously, though…I am deeply grateful. You guys made me laugh, cry, blast the computer to bits, chuck stuff out the window. All sorts of fun stuff. I've ranted, I've raved, I've made my characters suffer through my every whim, and you have always followed through with reviews.

…and also to my muses, I suppose, even if they did keep on taking illegal vacations to the Caribbean. And go on strike. And release killer French Roasts.

Come to think of it, I owe nothing to them…NOTHING, YOU HEAR? –pfffffbt-

But to all my reviewers :) Man, oh man, it has been fun writing this fic. All of you have made me feel like there's a point to my writing, and you've critiqued it, reviewed it, praised it, etc. it…I'm so gonna cry!

-wails- I hate getting sentimental. Gah! What the crap. –starts to cry-

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_End of Thorn and Misery_


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